Gold Earrings and the Knight

The moment the man walked into the store, the rest of the clientele fell silent and still.

He was tall, with ebony black hair and handsome features, and he instantly drew everyone’s attention. Most captivating of all were his golden eyes, which glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Those eyes did not pale even in comparison to the shopkeeper’s own wares, of which he was most proud.

The shopkeeper needed no introduction to this customer. Leone Jedda, his father-in-law and guildmaster of the Merchants’ Guild, had sent him a letter in advance regarding Volfred Scalfarotto. There could be no question that this was he.

The shopkeeper stopped the other sales clerks from approaching Volfred, deciding that it was best he, as the proprietor, deal directly with this client.

The Earldom Scalfarotto was set to rise to a marquisate next term. Normally they would have summoned a gem dealer to their estate, but instead, this particular Scalfarotto had decided to come in person to visit his shop as a private customer.

The strikingly attractive young man was famous for being one of the Royal Order of Beast Hunters’ Scarlet Armors, and for being the topic of sensational gossip among women.

The many female customers were staring at him, waiting to eavesdrop on whatever he might say. By tomorrow, the fact that Volfred had visited this shop would be the talk of the town—effectively serving as free advertising. Leone had put a great deal of thought into orchestrating this visit.

“Welcome, and thank you for your presence here today. I am Lorenz Bressan, the owner of this store.”

“Thank you for the warm welcome. My name is Volfred Scalfarotto. I’m here to purchase something...”

Lorenz stepped closer to the man—who had begun, without preamble, to explain his reason for visiting—and saw that he had dark circles under his eyes. It seemed all that gossip about his active social life was true.

“Let us move to a room upstairs, Lord Scalfarotto. There, you can explain to me in greater detail exactly what it is you are looking for.”

This man is attracting more attention than the jewelry on display. Lorenz had a feeling that with so many stares on him, Volfred would be too uncomfortable to find what he was looking for. He wanted to let the knight peruse his wares from the comfort of a chair. With that thought, Lorenz guided him to the second floor. They entered one of the parlor rooms, and Lorenz asked a sales clerk to prepare some tea.

He and Volfred sat across from each other at a table, whereupon he asked the haggard young man, “What may I help you find today, Lord Scalfarotto?”

In his letter, Leone had laid out three requirements for the accessory: It must be made of gold, it must be something a woman in her twenties would wear, and it must be appropriate for a marquisate. That meant Lorenz must not show Volfred anything that failed to meet those criteria. He would have to exercise caution in selecting an accessory for a woman he had never laid eyes on.

“I would like help choosing gold earrings for a woman. I haven’t decided on anything else besides that. Mr. Leone recommended this shop to me, and I thought I could decide after seeing what you have.”

Once he was done speaking, the black-haired man fixed Lorenz with a piercing gaze. Lorenz suspected he wasn’t looking for a casual gift. He might even be judging the quality of his store.

Volfred was a scion of the Scalfarotto family. His father had been known as the Earl of Water, but lately another nickname within the family was gaining more recognition—that of the Marquis of Ice. The increasing fame of that name was due to the family’s impending elevation in rank, their expanded production of ice crystals, and the soon-to-be marquis’s powerful ice magic. His ability to mercilessly freeze his family’s opponents had likewise become a topic of conversation.

And here Lorenz was with one of the Scalfarottos as his customer. He wanted to make sure he did not recommend a product that wasn’t to Volfred’s liking. As a member of the Scalfarotto family, this young man undoubtedly had a discerning eye and exacting tastes.

Lorenz’s shop offered jewelry in a wide range of prices, but each item, down to the least costly, was a work of great quality. He could show Volfred everything he had to offer and allow him to make his own judgments.

Lorenz straightened his back. “Why, certainly. We have three hundred to choose from. I can bring them out for you in groups.”

“Huh? Three hundred?”

Volfred’s golden eyes widened, then darkened. Perhaps he didn’t have time to think and choose—or perhaps he was testing Lorenz as the store owner.

Lorenz noticed a shiny bracelet on the left wrist of the man’s crossed arms. It was silver but had an exquisite golden sheen. Even to someone with Lorenz’s trained eye for precious metals, it wasn’t immediately identifiable. It might be an enchanted tool, but he detected no magical vibrations from it. He did sense, without a doubt, that it was one of a kind.

“If you would prefer, I could bring out some pieces I recommend,” Lorenz suggested nervously.

“Yes, please do. I know very little about jewelry, so I would appreciate any advice...” the handsome man said in a low, pleading voice.

Lorenz would have expected Volfred to be accustomed to giving women jewelry or even receiving it himself. Is this some sort of joke? His judgment and taste as owner of this shop were being put to the test.

Lorenz’s anxiety became all the more intense.

“Could I bother you to describe for me the recipient’s hair color, eye color, complexion, features, and the type of clothing she prefers, if you please? Then I will bring out some options I believe will suit her.”

“Well, let’s see... Her hair is a light, soft red, and her eyes are a brilliant emerald green... Her skin is fair with a bit of rosiness to it... She normally wears stylish dresses or two-piece outfits... But she sometimes wears work clothes too. And I’d say she usually wears clothes in neutral colors like white, dark blue, dark green, and brown.”

Lorenz gathered a lot from the way the young man spoke with his eyes downcast as he carefully combed through his memories. And he was unsettled by the revelation that the woman was not a noble.

“Do you intend these earrings to be daily wear? Or are they for a formal occasion?”

“She’ll be wearing the earrings at a ball for her debut. My friend is going to be receiving a barony next year, so if possible, I would like to give her something she can continue wearing in the future—when she’s a baroness.”

Volf spoke excitedly, as if he were talking about his own brilliant future. Lorenz couldn’t help but smile.

“Receiving a peerage—certainly an auspicious occasion. In that case, it is both a present and a congratulatory gift.”

“Yes, that’s right. I’d like to get her something that she can wear all the time...” Volf’s words trailed off, sounding almost like a prayer. The gentlest of smiles formed on his face, only to fade away as quickly as it had come.

Lorenz thought for a moment that it seemed as if the man was here to find something the woman could keep as a memento of himself in the event of his untimely demise, but he quickly shooed that morbid thought away. He had almost allowed himself to be overawed by the man’s beautiful golden eyes.

Lorenz let his gaze fall, and it settled upon the man’s hands, loosely folded together on the table—then, discourteous as it was, he did a double take.

Volfred had cracks in his fingernails, and the insides of his fingers and palms were riddled with blood blisters from wielding a sword. Lorenz could see that the knight had a muscular physique underneath his clothes, and that his right shoulder was sloped from bearing the burden of his sword. If it were truly the case that this man spent all his time amusing himself with women, he would not have those hands and that body.

Ah, I see. Now Lorenz understood the cause of those dark circles under Volf’s eyes. They weren’t the wages of a life of debauchery. Rather, he had probably pushed himself to come here on his day off from his demanding duties as a Beast Hunter, returning from either an expedition or a day of rigorous training.

Lorenz remembered the note from his father-in-law—that the accessory must be gold, appealing to a woman in her twenties, and acceptable for a marquisate—and had a sudden realization: The recipient of these golden earrings was the young man’s lover, a woman of lower social standing.

The woman must have worked herself to the bone in order to earn a barony. Even setting aside Volf’s beauty, the gulf between a commoner and an earl’s son was vast. He must have started all those groundless rumors himself in order to minimize any conflict for the woman he loved, and to avoid an arranged marriage with another noble for himself. Thus he was forced to refer to her only as a friend.

That also explained why Lorenz’s father-in-law had written that the jewelry should be appropriate for a marquisate: It was in the hopes that the woman could one day stand by Volfred’s side, bearing his surname.

“Your friend sounds like a hardworking individual. And she must be...very important to you,” Lorenz suggested.

“She is...!”

Volfred nodded deeply. His boyish smile was unmistakably that of a man deeply in love.

Lorenz felt ashamed at himself, both for having thought Volfred was a client he needed to play games with and for having been preoccupied solely with making his own store look good. Volfred and the woman were simply a couple in love. The road ahead might be long and arduous, but Lorenz hoped the two would arrive at their destination.

To find the finest piece of jewelry, perfect for both this young man and the woman who would be receiving it—it was just the sort of job for him.

Lorenz did have one frustration: He suspected that all this had transpired according to his father-in-law’s predictions. He had seen how prideful Lorenz had become after expanding his shop and so had sent him this young man to remind him of the heart of his business, namely care and consideration for his customers. As ever, Leone Jedda had Lorenz in the palm of his hand. He still could not compete with his father-in-law’s business acumen. It seems I, too, have a long road ahead of me.

With a broad smile on his face, Lorenz spoke. “Lord Scalfarotto, allow me to bring you a few earrings I recommend. You may take as much time as you need and have at your disposal to make your selection.”

“Phew...” Volf sighed.

He stood before the jewelry store in the Central District that the guildmaster of the Merchants’ Guild had recommended to him. A few well-dressed gentlewomen were examining the rows of dazzling accessories on display in the shop window. Volf nervously stepped inside, intimidated by the boutique’s high-end ambience.

Leone had written him a letter of introduction; thus, he had come without wearing his fairy glasses so that the staff would recognize him. It was no surprise, then, that the moment he entered the shop, all eyes were on him.

Mercifully, before any women could approach him, the friendly shopkeeper, Lorenz, came to greet him. Lorenz must have picked up on the fact that Volf was uneasy trying to choose something amid all these stares; much to Volf’s relief, he suggested that they adjourn to another room, on the second floor. Lorenz did not look down on Volf for his ignorance of jewelry; rather, he asked him about the intended recipient, then went downstairs to fetch a few options.

While he waited for Lorenz to return, Volf sipped his tea and took a moment to breathe. He hadn’t been getting much sleep lately—he’d had several restless nights in a row, with dreams he couldn’t say were good or bad. And he had been agonizing over what kind of jewelry to get Dahlia.

Unable to come up with an idea no matter how hard he thought about it, he’d gone to his older brother Guido for advice. Guido had proceeded to ask Gildo about Dahlia’s dress for the ball and suggested that Volf give her matching earrings. She would be wearing a commoner’s dress with a conservative neckline, so something like a pendant wouldn’t stand out too much.

Guido had then handed Volf a booklet containing descriptions of all types of earrings, from the most basic to the trendiest, which had done nothing to resolve his indecision.

After yesterday’s training, Randolph had visited him in his quarters, concerned about the dark circles under his eyes, and asked if there was something troubling him.

Volf had decided not to conceal anything. He’d asked Randolph’s advice about the earrings for Dahlia, and after listening to Volf’s account, his friend had simply suggested, “I don’t know much about jewelry either, but why not just give Miss Dahlia whatever you think would look nice on her?”

“That’s exactly what I’m struggling to decide...”

“I think whatever you think suits Miss Dahlia will be good enough.”

With that advice in mind, Volf had flipped through the booklet again, trying to envision Dahlia wearing each item. His eyes came to a halt on a pair of earrings with round, translucent blue stones dangling at the ends of delicate golden chains. He imagined those stones swinging from Dahlia’s ears as she danced and was suddenly reminded of something.

“Those stones sort of look like blue slimes. Maybe they would suit her...”

“Volf, while I do think that’s a pretty design, you shouldn’t give her a gift based on that reasoning. There’s not a woman alive who’d be happy to hear that slimes suit her.”

Volf was even less sure of his judgment now that his normally mild-mannered friend had shot down his idea so ruthlessly. His mind drifted to Idaealina, the chief researcher of the slime farm, but he shook that thought away.

Just as Volf was about to let out a groan of defeat, Randolph threw him a lifeline. “Why don’t you just ask a shop clerk to show you gold earrings for an unmarried noblewoman? Then you can choose whichever ones you like. You can’t go wrong that way.”

Of course. Jewelry store clerks are the experts. I can just ask them for help. Volf thanked his friend, and that night, for the first time in a while, he fell asleep with ease—only to be awoken from a dream he’d had just about enough of, starring the blue slime that had melted Dahlia’s reddish-brown skirt the other day on the first floor of the Green Tower.

“That damn slime...” Volf cursed as he plunged the image down into the depths of his heart.

This morning, during free training, it occurred to Volf that if he pushed his body to the limit, fatigue would extinguish those idiotic dreams, so he asked a few of his squadmates—one the same age as him, one older knight, and one veteran who was observing their training—to spar with him.

He and the veteran fought their bout without using magic. Volf started off on a good foot, but it wasn’t long before he was taught a lesson and sent tumbling spectacularly to the ground.

As a finishing blow, the veteran knight shot him a look of sympathy and said, “Volfred, don’t lose hope. Your heart may be broken as many as ten times in your young life.”

“I am not heartbroken!” he protested.

“Aha ha! That got you to loosen up.”

It was only when he heard Bernigi’s hearty laugh that Volf realized he was being teased. The other knights who were in the middle of their own sparring matches didn’t seem to have heard the veteran’s comment, but even so, Volf was deeply uncomfortable.

“When you are young, experience is life’s greatest teacher. Go sort out whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

Volf, ashamed at himself for being unable to focus fully on his training, had followed the veteran’s advice and left to take his afternoon break. After bathing and changing into clean clothes, he’d departed for the jewelry shop.

Once Volf had downed about half his tea, Lorenz returned bearing two black velvet boxes. He wore a pair of white silk gloves and held another in his hands.

“Thank you for your patience,” he said. “Lord Scalfarotto, are any of these earrings to your liking?”

Lorenz carefully opened one of the boxes to reveal four pairs of clip-on earrings laid out in a row on white silk. Each was polished to a high luster.

The first pair, on the left, were shaped like small snowflakes from which long, thin chains dangled. To the right was another pair, each with a single pearl set in a goldwork stud and a second pearl at the end of a long chain. The pair next to that were oval-shaped drop earrings of delicate golden openwork. The earrings to the far right were a little larger; each was shaped like a round flower that, depending on how one looked at it, resembled a dahlia. Below each flower hung a transparent stone shaped like a teardrop.

All of them were beautiful, and Volf felt any of them would look nice on Dahlia.

“These earrings are quite attractive when worn while dancing or engaging in other forms of physical activity. I recommend that they be worn unmodified while she’s still a commoner, but once she receives her barony, they can be adorned with bright gems, like these.”

Lorenz opened the second velvet box. Inside was an assortment of small stones, segregated into their own little compartments. There were a variety of colors—red, yellow, green, blue, black, and white—in a variety of shapes, from disks to teardrops to spheres.

“Lord Scalfarotto, once you put these on, please feel free to pick up and examine everything to your satisfaction.”

Lorenz proffered the pair of white gloves, and Volf reached for them only to start at the sight of his own hands. He must have overdone his training; the blisters on his palms and fingers had burst and bled. If he put the gloves on, he’d surely stain them.

Nobles generally made an effort to heal injuries faster than commoners did; otherwise, they were likely to be criticized, either because they’d been weak enough to get injured in the first place or because they couldn’t afford potions or other treatment. But since these types of wounds were common among knights of the Order of Beast Hunters, he had unthinkingly come straight here without seeking treatment. It would be bad manners for him to touch the earrings in this condition.

“I apologize for the state of my hands. I’ll only get your gloves dirty. I will look without touching.”

“Nonsense, sir. Those superb hands of yours protect the citizens of our kingdom. They are the hands of a knight.”

Volf found himself at a loss for words. Now that he thought about it, the shopkeeper had yet to betray the slightest sign of hostility or envy toward him. He hadn’t commented on Volf’s family or his appearance. He’d simply praised Dahlia’s hard work in earning a barony and praised Volf’s roughened hands as those of a knight.

Even if Lorenz was merely flattering a prospective buyer, Volf was nonetheless moved. After a pause, he thanked Lorenz and put on the gloves without further protest. He then picked up one of the earrings with care and was shocked to feel how light it was. If something like this were to fall from his ear, he didn’t think he would be likely to notice.

At Lorenz’s suggestion, Volf gave the earring a gentle sway. The fine chain made a soft tinkling sound as it swung, and the hue of the gleaming gold changed subtly as the light hit it from different angles.

The earrings differed in shape and shine, but each was a marvel in its own way. After much indecision, he narrowed his choices down to two pairs.

“I’m having trouble deciding between this one and this one.”

He had selected the snowflake earrings and the earrings with flowers shaped like dahlias. He recalled Dahlia mentioning just the other day that she liked snowflakes. As for the other pair, they might be a little on the nose, but he felt dahlia earrings would be perfect for her.

Not far from Randolph, Volf was wiping himself off with a towel. He must have worked up quite the sweat pushing himself to leap across the valley floor like that. His face was so red, Grato half expected to see steam rising from his body.

“Volf, good work out there.”

“Captain, you were amazing! I’d do anything to wear that armor someday!”

“...Is that right?”

Grato’s intention had been to acknowledge one of his men for risking his life acting as bait, but instead the knight was regarding him with stars in his eyes. Volf, who loved magical swords, had apparently taken a liking to Black No. 1 as well.

“I seem to remember Lord Bernigi and the other veterans expressing interest in wearing it too,” a middle-aged knight commented.

“Many of the other knights in the squad have been saying they want to try it. It looks so cool!” said Volf.

“There’s also a priest who’s put in a request for defensive equipment, though I let him know that will likely be difficult to acquire...” the middle-aged knight replied with a dry smirk.

Grato had a strong feeling that priest was the very same one who had tried to name the armor “Corazza Lucente.” If he got his hands on his own “defensive equipment,” there was no telling what sort of ludicrous name he would give it.

When Grato turned around once more, he saw that the squad was in the middle of carrying away one of the wyvern’s wings and its tail. He was surprised by how large the monster had been for how young it was. It wouldn’t be long before they had the materials for a second suit. The problem is, who’s going to wear it?

“I smell a contest over Green No. 1,” Grato muttered with a faraway look in his eye.

The Small Goods Craftsman and the Vice-Chairman’s Hesitation

“Hello! Thank you for having us over.”

“Hi there. Good to see you again, Dahlia.”

Early one windy afternoon, Ivano arrived at the Green Tower with Fermo, a craftsman of small goods. Dahlia led them to the living room on the second floor, where she promptly served them tea.

Ivano unwrapped the cloth bundle he had brought as a thank-you gift. “Chairwoman, this is for you. It’s ripe to eat.”

“Thank you. Wow, it’s huge!”

Dahlia’s face lit up as she took the large cantaloupe. Its shell was light green; no doubt the flesh within was a rich orange color and very sweet. Carlo had once told Ivano that cantaloupe was Dahlia’s favorite fruit as a child. Recalling that, he’d decided to bring one here as a gift, since they were hard to find in winter, and she seemed pleased to receive it.

Incidentally, Ivano’s two daughters loved this fruit as well. He had already asked that another be delivered to his home.

“I’ll go cut it now so we can share. Please, go ahead and drink your tea.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Fermo said. “Oh, Dahlia! What’s the cylindrical tool in that blueprint?”

As an artisan himself, Fermo had a keen eye for schematics. Even now that he’d donned the fine coat of a company chairman, he retained the perspective of a craftsman.

“It’s a plan for a wand. I’d actually like to ask you some questions later about its structure...”

“I’d be happy to help in any way I can. You don’t mind if I take a look at this, then?”

“No, please, by all means.”

Ivano kept quiet as he listened in on the exchange between the two artisans. Among other secrets of magical toolmaking, Dahlia had taught Fermo how to apply kraken tape, and which toolmaking materials he could use even with his low magical grade. In turn, Fermo had taught Dahlia the techniques for manually working and shaping metal and monster bones: how to select the right hammer or chisel, how to reduce weight by adjusting the design or by cutting, and, trickiest of all, how to round off edges. Dahlia was dexterous enough, but Fermo was clearly a league above.

It seemed to Ivano that both could probably work faster if each engaged the other’s assistance for the most specialized tasks, but perhaps that was just the merchant in him speaking. When it came to discussions between craftspeople, he would hold his peace.

“Be careful, Chairwoman. That’s heavy. Would you like me to carry it for you and help you cut it?”

“That’s all right; I can handle it.”

Cradling the cantaloupe in her arms, Dahlia headed to the kitchen with light steps. Ivano watched as she left, then addressed Fermo, who sat in the chair beside his.

“How are the interiors of your workshop and home coming along?”

“It’s slow going. We’ve just barely gotten started on the shelves for the workshop, and we haven’t even decided on curtains for the house...”

After a few bumps in the road, Fermo had successfully established the Gandolfi Company. He’d then obtained a workshop and house in the West District, where the Green Tower, too, was located. However, as the house was still under construction, Fermo wasn’t planning to move until after the New Year. He explained that he was so busy with fulfilling orders for the foaming soap dispensers and atomizers that he hadn’t even had the time to start preparing.

“You have a lot on your plate. Make sure you take care of yourself too. It would be a lot of trouble for us if you were to collapse.”

“You couldn’t have phrased that a bit more gently? And I’m fine. This is heaven compared to all the idle time I had in the spring.”

At the beginning of last spring, Fermo had indeed been struggling with inadequate work, hence the gratitude with which he welcomed his new situation. His wife, too, had returned to her trade; he had more apprentices; and in addition to his small crafts, he was now involved in making various parts for magical tools. On top of that, he had established a company of his own, bought a new workshop and home, and was soon to move, all of which had only added to his business—and Ivano was about to add even more.

“Fermo—I mean, Chairman Gandolfi.”

“Why’re you being so formal? Whenever you address me like that, I know it’s bad news,” Fermo responded without looking up from the blueprint on the table.

“I want to invite you to join a project for the Scalfarotto Arms Works next year. It will take place at Sir Volf’s—that is, the Scalfarotto family’s villa.”

“Hey, Ivano, there’s such a thing as taking a joke too far...” Fermo said coldly.

Worried he might drop his teacup, Ivano set it down on its saucer without taking a sip.

“I’m quite serious. The Gandolfi Company will be fully up and running in the New Year and ready to branch out, isn’t that right? With Chairwoman Dahlia’s referral, you can join without having to jump through any hoops. It would be the perfect opportunity to make yourself known.”

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack, man? What’s a commoner like me got to do with a workshop like that, crawling with earls and viscounts and whatnot? I craft small goods, not magical tools or weapons,” Fermo replied with distaste.

Ivano flashed him a smile. “I’ve heard that your wife’s handiwork is very popular among noblewomen. In particular, I heard it was she who made the well-regarded glass tabletop for the dowager duchess Lady Altea Gastoni’s heated low table. And do I understand correctly that the wait for a colored glass tabletop with painted illustrations is two entire years?”

“Well, what can I say—she’s a talented woman. But her health’s still a concern, so she tells people it’ll take double the time it actually does. In reality, her hands aren’t that full. She has assistants and help around the house now too.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s very much in demand. Aren’t you worried someone might be tempted to cut in line?”

Fermo grimaced, and he hesitated before answering. “That shouldn’t be a problem. The Merchants’ Guild’s been helping on that front.”

The fact that he couldn’t definitively say no meant that he and his wife had already been on the receiving end of unreasonable requests. Although not all nobles were quite so demanding, many were prone to throwing money at this or that business, insisting that they be prioritized over other customers or demanding that the artisan make them a finer product than another family’s.

Fortunately, thanks to the efforts of Leone, who was a guarantor of the Gandolfi Company, and his wife, Gabriella, things hadn’t come to that. But there was no guarantee their lives would remain uncomplicated.

“Fermo, wouldn’t you rather have more influence than your wife does?”

“We may compete with each other when it comes to skill, but not when it comes to power or money.”

“I understand completely. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I’m just thinking—suppose your wife were to clash with a noble. Wouldn’t it be gallant of you to come to her rescue? And if you had that kind of influence, your apprentices would be safer too. Perhaps there wouldn’t be any harm in meeting some high-ranking nobles, and perhaps it’d be wise to get some big shot in your corner sooner rather than later. Something like that.”

Fermo looked at Ivano’s grinning face as if he were something repugnant. In fact, he probably looked at summer mosquitoes more kindly than that.

“Ivano... Good guys like you are hard to find. And you’ve been really outdoing yourself lately...”

Ivano bobbed his head in an exaggerated manner. “Thank you kindly.”

His shoulders shaking, Fermo turned his entire body toward Ivano. “You moron, I was being sarcastic! Get a clue— Ah, of course, you knew that...”

“You know me too well, Chairman Gandolfi!”

Fermo put a hand to his brow and exhaled at length. “Fine, I’ll do it. I can tell you won’t let me take any other path regardless. Just let me give your head a good smack first.”

“Not my head, please. I think I’m getting a bald spot!”

“All the better. Your scalp could use the stimulation.”

“I don’t need that kind of stimulation... But wait a tick—does that actually work?”

“According to a conversation I overheard at the barbershop, but who knows? I did hear there’s a shop in the South District that sells brushes for hitting your scalp.”

“By all means, buy one and tell me how it works.”

“Buy it yourself. I’m not the one worried about my hair.”

As Ivano continued his back-and-forth with Fermo, who was about ready to throw his hands up in exasperation, Dahlia returned bearing a large plate piled high with cut melon. In perfect synchronicity, the two men shut their mouths and picked up their teacups.

“I brought some small plates for us to use... Umm, is everything okay?” Dahlia asked uneasily. From the kitchen, she’d heard them talking loudly, but the moment she’d opened the door, they were drinking their tea in silence.

“We were just chatting about hair.”

“Ivano’s fretting about his hair.”

“Really? So men put a lot of thought into their hairstyles too, huh?”

Dahlia placed two small plates in front of them and transferred a few pieces of juicy, delicious-looking cantaloupe to each.

Ivano thanked her and then pierced the crisp flesh with his fork. “Carlo had the same hairstyle forever, and it seemed to work for him. And he had a thick head of hair, though he was losing some at the temples,” he commented.

“That’s because he put a lot of effort into his hair.”

“Oh? I never thought Carlo was one to put too much effort into his appearance,” Ivano said bluntly.

Dahlia could but chuckle weakly in agreement. Carlo had often neglected to wear socks, left the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, and draped his jacket over his shoulders rather than put his arms through the sleeves. Baron though he was, he’d often been careless and sloppy.

“But he put a lot of effort into his hair health. He always used a brush with wild boar bristles before shampooing in the morning and at night...”

“A wild boar bristle brush... Anything else?” Ivano asked keenly. He set down his fork and took out a black leather notepad.

“He was careful about his diet. He ate bean soup and soups with chicken or pork bone broth. He drank a lot of milk and even cooked with it... Oh, and he ate a lot of seaweed salad.”

Dahlia’s father had begun to complain of thinning hair when she was in college. His face had been grave, so Dahlia had recommended everything she could remember her father from her previous life doing to combat hair loss. Carlo had followed her advice as far as brushing and diet changes, but he hadn’t quite listened to her when it came to his alcohol intake and his habit of working late into the night.

“Did Carlo use any special shampoos or hair products?”

“No, he used the same shampoo I did—just a regular one that doesn’t have a strong fragrance. It can be found anywhere. He didn’t use many hair products, but he did put on some plant-based wax when he met with other barons.”

Her father had disliked overpowering smells and the sensation of grease on his hair. Dahlia was the same.

“No hair oil? Don’t nobles slather that stuff on their heads?” Fermo asked.

“Right, they say it nourishes the roots of your hair and makes it grow!” Ivano added.

“I think it depends on the type of oil, but heavy oils can make your skin greasy. That’s no good for your scalp or your roots, so it’s better to use it in moderation.”

Hearing her explanation, Ivano froze, then slowly brought a hand to his combed-back mustard-colored hair. “A shopkeeper told me I needed to use a lot of this oil to keep my scalp from drying out. And it wasn’t cheap...”

“Um, if you use too much, it can clog your follicles and do more harm than good...”

“But I’ve been using it every day and night! I say, Dahlia, this hair care regimen—I don’t suppose it’s a Rossetti family secret?”

“No, not at all. It’s just common knowledge, I think. My father used to discuss all of this with his friends—with Dominic, for example.”

After Carlo had given Dahlia’s methods a try, Dominic from the Merchants’ Guild had asked him for his recipes for bone broth soup and seaweed salad. Though she’d never heard whether the recipes had been effective for him, Dahlia recalled that Dominic had later sent her father a large tin of gourmet cookies as a thank-you.

“Ah, Dominic Kämpfer, the scrivener? Now that you mention it, he’s gone completely white, but he does have a full head of hair...” Fermo mused.

“Maybe Carlo and Dominic never truly considered me their friend...” Ivano said, concluding his strange comment with a faraway gaze.

Fermo wordlessly patted him on the shoulder. The mood in the room was suddenly quite somber.

“Oh, um! Ivano, you’re much younger than my father was, so I’m sure he thought you weren’t old enough to be worried about that sort of thing yet.”

“She’s right, Ivano. Come on, now—you’ve still got a lush mane of hair.” Fermo laughed and gave Ivano’s head a light slap, though it made an unexpectedly loud sound. “Sorry! Hit you a little too hard there.”

“It’s been troubling me lately. You see, my father was balding, and my grandfather lost his hair at an early age...”

“I don’t think you need to worry about it too much,” Dahlia said.

Ivano leveled his navy blue gaze at her. “But Dahlia, imagine... If your boyfriend or husband started to go bald, wouldn’t it bother you?”

“Not really, as long as he was healthy. I’d only be worried if he was going bald because of illness or stress.”

Whether due to age or constitution, people’s hair went through all kinds of changes over the course of their lives. Dahlia doubted she would have cared if Carlo had gone completely bald. Even her father in her previous life had been somewhat lacking in hair—for example, on the top of his head—but she had never paid them much attention.

What she had cared about was his health. When he began to make a habit of coming home late from work, she’d worried he was pushing himself too hard. And when he replied to her inquiries by smiling and insisting he was fine, it had only made her worry more. Meanwhile, her father was worried about his hair. He would say that it made him look older—that he wanted to look healthy and robust.

“Now, Dahlia... What if Sir Volf were to lose his hair? You wouldn’t care about that either?” Ivano asked.

“Not really. I would only be worried if it happened because of an injury or overworked nerves.”

If Volf’s hair began to fall out because, say, a monster had burned his scalp with acid, or because he was getting no sleep during expeditions, then that, of course, would cause her no end of concern.

But even if Volf lost his hair, he would still be the same person. In fact, since his appearance had caused him such trouble in the past, maybe going bald would actually be a boon. An image began to coalesce in Dahlia’s mind, but she quickly shook it away.

“I think in general, women care more about hair...” Fermo said.

“That’s probably true when it comes to hairstyles, and it also depends on the person, but, um, if it’s something you’re worried about, maybe you should talk to Barbara about it?” Dahlia suggested.

“Hmm, well, it’s hard for me to bring up...”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Ivano.

Dahlia couldn’t quite comprehend why they would ask her about something they couldn’t bear to bring up to their wives. Did people’s love for one another really waver depending on the health of their hair?

In any case, if Ivano and Fermo’s fundamental concern was to appear healthy, they could always wear toupees. But that was something she wanted them to realize for themselves before asking their wives.

“Okay then, let me ask you this. Would either of you feel differently about your wives if they lost their hair?”

“No, not a bit— Ah, I see... Sorry, stupid question,” Fermo said with a smile. Dahlia was relieved to see he’d figured it out on his own.

Meanwhile, Ivano was brooding with his hand to his chin.

“First I would make certain she wasn’t ill,” he muttered under his breath. “Then, if it bothered her, I’d bring her to the temple or a doctor, or I’d ask Lord Guido...and Lord Gildo for advice, and if I still couldn’t find a solution, I would find her a wig...which would mean going to a barber... Professor Oswald would undoubtedly know a lot about that...”

Dahlia’s ever dependable vice-chairman, with his broad range of knowledge and connections, had instantly been able to formulate concrete plans for his wife’s hypothetical problem. He’d said he was worried about his own hair, but it seemed he dealt with his problems differently from his wife’s.

Without another word, Dahlia turned back toward Fermo. He happened to turn toward her at the same instant and met her gaze with an air of sheepishness.

“Dahlia, uh, care to tell me which shampoo, brush, and hair products Carlo used? I want to do what I can now. I’ll make it up to you, of course.”

“I’ll write it all down for you. As for making it up to me, you can help me with this blueprint.”

“Not a problem.”

The skilled small goods craftsman picked up the blueprint. His smile narrowed his dark green eyes to a squint.

After the three finished enjoying the cantaloupe, they descended to the first floor of the Green Tower. In the workshop, Dahlia picked up a wand. It resembled a conductor’s baton but was white in color.

“This is the kelpie wand.”

The object in her hands was not one of the dozen wands Leone had sent her the other day—she had already used them up on enchanting practice—but rather was an additional wand she’d asked Ivano to acquire.

“So, Dahlia, the plans you showed me upstairs looked pretty simple, but what exactly are you planning?”

“I was wondering if it would be possible to make the wand hollow without reducing its durability...”

“I know that face. You’re not wondering if you can or can’t—you want to make it happen, right?”

Fermo grinned and held out a hand. Dahlia passed the wand to him, and he turned it over, examining it from every angle. The white surface gleamed blue as he moved it—a characteristic of kelpie bones.

“It’s pretty thick. Why make it hollow?”

“I want to try drawing the magical circuit on both the exterior and interior...”

“Ah, for increased surface area, you mean?” Ivano was quick to understand. His experience working at the Merchants’ Guild, and now with all kinds of magical tools as vice-chairman of the Rossetti Company, had made him something of an expert.

“I’ll be using different materials for the final product, but I would like the magical circuitry to be twice the length of this wand.”

The basic design with which Leone had supplied her was a lot simpler than she had expected. Essentially, the circuit formed a spiral. Toward the handle, the lines were widely spaced; toward the tip, they narrowed and converged. Per a note Leone had included with the design documents, the purpose of the shape was to channel and concentrate magical energy.

For Guido’s wand, she planned to enchant a hati bone with an ice dragon scale. Based on her simple calculations, that type of wand should have seven times the output of a kelpie bone wand enchanted with an ice crystal.

Accordingly, she wanted to make the magical circuitry sturdier, safer, and more powerful, but after drafting a number of designs, she’d realized none of them could possibly fit on the surface of the wand. She’d made several attempts to reduce and consolidate the circuitry, but the best she could manage was to get it down to twice the surface area of the wand.

As she was racking her brain for a solution to this seemingly insoluble problem, she’d suddenly remembered something: In my previous life, there were electronics with double-sided circuit boards!

Something similar existed in this world. Although her father had never taught her the technique, she owned a spellbook that explained how to draw magical circuitry in areas the toolmaker couldn’t see.

She might not be equal to the task, but she was sure Leone Jedda would be. He had been her father’s senior in school, and no feat seemed beyond his capabilities. It was almost a shame that he was the guildmaster of the Merchants’ rather than a magical toolmaker.

“Here are my failed attempts at making the wands hollow...”

Dahlia shamefacedly plopped the box of duds down on the workbench. Three had broken in half, and two had vertical splits. One she had succeeded in hollowing out, but it had ended up too thin, too fragile, and when she’d given it a light wave, it had broken apart.

His brow furrowed, Fermo examined the failed wands one by one.

“Dahlia, did you cut straight down the bone?”

“Yes, I channeled magic into a small knife and cut in a straight line.”

“The fibers of these bones are strong lengthwise. You need to move slowly and diagonally, otherwise it’ll crack. Think of it as dry firewood.”

So I was cutting in the wrong direction. If she had cut at an angle, the bone wouldn’t have cracked so easily.

“Are the kelpie wands unusable with circuits on only one side?” Ivano asked.

From a shelf, Dahlia pulled down the large magically enchanted box that held the pile of kelpie wands she’d used for enchanting practice.

“They’re not unusable, but this is all they can do...”

She let some magic flow through one of the wands, and a bit of white fluff drifted out of the end.

“Is that snow?”

“Calling it a snow flurry sounds nicer, but really, they’re just little bits of ice...”

This was all she had to show for her efforts. Even when she channeled as much magic as she could into the wand, she could produce only these barely visible ice crystals. The wand offered no defensive or offensive capabilities. It was a harmless product, fit only for science experiments.

But the cost of materials was considerable. If all one wanted was to produce a bit of ice, one would be better off using an ice crystal. Something like this served no real purpose—

“Hey, this’d make a great swizzle stick!” said Fermo with a laugh. “Keep it on the table and you can have chilled drinks whenever you want.”

Dahlia laughed. Spoken like a man who’s enthusiastic about his beverages! And he’s right—it could work for that.

“Mr. Fermo, feel free to take that home if you’d like. I made a lot while I was practicing.”

“Thanks! I won’t say no to that. In exchange, I’ll make you a holder for them—I’ve got some leftover materials I can use.”

“That would be great. Would you like one too, Ivano? You could make a tasty treat for your daughters by dispensing some snow on a small plate and drizzling it with honey.”

It wouldn’t be as fluffy as shaved ice, but the crystals would be more or less fine enough. The texture could be improved depending on how much magic went into the wand, but that would be up to the individual user.

“Thank you. I will gladly take you up on that offer. And this is for you, Chairwoman.”

Ivano smiled as he swiftly produced a Merchants’ Guild contract. Why is he walking around with that?

The Two Professors and the Dawn Sword

After the red sky of dusk had fully settled into night, a carriage bearing no crest stopped in front of the Green Tower.

Dahlia and Volf went outside to greet it, then raised their eyebrows in surprise. An unlikely pair descended from the carriage—a white-haired man with an impressive beard and a man with silver hair and eyes.

“I’ve brought an assistant. I could think of no one more qualified in fine magical circuitry.”

“Apologies for surprising you at such a late hour. Mr. Leone requested I assist him in this endeavor. I hope I won’t be intruding.”

The one who had accompanied the Merchants’ guildmaster, Leone Jedda, tonight was none other than Dahlia’s magical toolmaking teacher, Oswald Zola.

Dahlia had been under the impression that the two of them were estranged due to the matter with Gabriella, but it seemed they were not on such bad terms after all.

“Mr. Leone, Professor Oswald, thank you both for being here.”

With greetings out of the way, they went inside. Tonight, it would only be the four of them in the Green Tower. Magical toolmakers customarily hid advanced enchantments of this kind from outsiders. For that reason, Leone had instructed his bodyguard and attendant to stay outside of the grounds of the tower.

Dahlia had been worried that Volf wouldn’t be permitted to stay either, but Leone expressed no objection to his presence. Now that she thought about it, Guido had been the one to order the sword and Jonas the wand. Both were members of the Scalfarotto family, so perhaps Volf could be considered an intermediary.

“Mr. Leone, thank you for your advice the other day. I was able to make a great purchase thanks to your recommendation.”

“I am very pleased to hear that, Lord Volfred.”

“Um, if you wouldn’t mind, please call me Volf. And I would be happy if we could speak on more familiar terms. The same goes for you, Lord Oswald. You’ve done so much for both Dahlia and me.”

As a viscount, Leone customarily showed deference to Volf, the son of an earl, and even Oswald had always called Volf by his full first name. Dahlia wondered, a little guiltily, if Volf had asked them to drop the formality out of consideration for the fact that she would be benefiting from their instruction tonight.

“All right, then, Lord Volf. As guarantors of the same company, let’s be at ease around each other,” Leone said.

He turned to face Oswald. The silver-haired man set the large, narrow box he was carrying on the table. The exterior was covered in sand lizard leather dyed a deep crimson and embellished with a detailed pattern depicting windswept desert sands. If it weren’t for its size and slender shape, it almost would have resembled a jewelry box.

“This is a one-handed sword from Išrana,” Leone said.

“I am not a proficient swordsman, so would you do the honors, Sir Volf?” Oswald asked with a smile. He took a step away from Volf, then met eyes with Dahlia and nodded, so she hastily stepped back too.

“Understood. Allow me.”

Volf put on a pair of white gloves and gently opened the box. Inside was a one-handed sword of moderate size. The sheath and hilt were a matching dark crimson color, and the decorative guard looked to be red-tinged obsidian. The peculiar shades reminded Dahlia of the Ash-Hand, the magical sword wielded by the Order of Beast Hunters’ captain. However, this sword was more slender and had a slightly curved hilt.

With the sword in his hands, Volf took a step back from the workbench and then slowly drew the blade from its sheath. It gleamed gold under the light of the magical lantern.

This was a sword forged in Išrana. The radiant gold of the blade blended into a deep red, but the single edge was tinged with blue. It was a mesmerizing combination of colors.

After a few moments of standing in silent wonder, Volf breathed, “What a beautiful sword...”

Dahlia had no idea what it was worth, but there was no question that it was stunning.

“The blade is mythril and crimson gold, and it’s strong enough to break a griffin bone. Apparently it’s the work of a renowned swordsmith known only by the cognomen of ‘Dawn.’”

“Are swords like these available in the markets in Išrana?” Dahlia asked.

“No, they’re quite hard to find. I was lucky to obtain this one.”

At Leone’s words, Dahlia broke into a sweat. In other words, they had only one attempt to enchant this sword. There was no room for failure.

Volf silently slid the sword back into its sheath and returned it to its box, then went to the shelf to grab a different sword. This one was too heavy for Dahlia to hold single-handed, but he was able to pick it up with just his fingers before slowly extracting it from its sheath.

“This is the Crimson Lotus Blade,” he said.

The Crimson Lotus Blade was the sword Dahlia and Volf had created together.

Volf tugged on the tassel attached to the pommel. There was a click, and flames ran over the blade. The part closest to the hilt was yellow, which gradually changed to orange and finally red at the tip. The room was illuminated in the colorful gradation.

“The Crimson Lotus Blade, eh? An apt name...”

“It’s a beautiful color that befits its name. Well done...”

As the toolmakers stared transfixed at the sword, Dahlia told them, “Um, it might have a snazzy name, but it’s really just a sword-shaped lamp!” Her words came out like a confession.

In reality, the Crimson Lotus Blade was not very powerful. It just produced flames of different colors. Plus, if held for too long, it would make the holder’s face and arms get too hot. Volf had commented that the sword would pair well with a drink, but it was really just a product that, after a while, made one sweat and was likely to burn one’s eyebrows off.

In an attempt to remedy that, Dahlia had redesigned the magical circuit to allow the user to control the intensity of the flames with their magic. Someone like Jonas would be able to light and extinguish the flames as well as control their size. And if Leone, who had a higher magical grade than Dahlia, were to enchant the blade, it would be capable of producing an even stronger fire.

According to Volf, Jonas’s strong magic was capable of lengthening the flames in an emergency to use as an intimidation tactic. But that was the limit of this sword. No matter how much she improved on the circuitry, it could never reach the level of fire magic used by the mages who accompanied the Order of Beast Hunters. To accomplish that, she would need the high magical grade and enchantment skills of a castle magical toolmaker.

When she imagined Jonas wielding this sword, she could almost hear him say, “Here I go, turning on the emergency light!” with his composed smile.

The sword itself was good, but as a magical tool, it was disappointing. As she brooded over that thought, Volf finally extinguished the flames. But instead of immediately returning it to its sheath, he kept a hold on it.

“Are you about to show us its second form?” Leone asked.

“A second form...! No, it doesn’t have one. I’m just waiting for it to cool down.”

The words “second form” had apparently struck a chord with Volf. His golden eyes were shining.

But Dahlia hadn’t the slightest idea what the second form of a sword-shaped room lamp could even be. Maybe the flames could turn blue? she considered as Volf continued his explanation to Leone.

The sheath was enchanted to keep the heat inside, but it would damage the sword to put it away while it was still hot. Therefore, in order to avoid damaging the sword, he was letting it cool down first. When they heard that, Leone and Oswald both made a face.

Feeling a little flustered, Dahlia spread out the blueprint for the magical circuitry she had designed for the one-handed sword.

“Mr. Leone, here is the magical circuit I’d like your help with.”

“Let’s see... So, you want this circuit to be drawn on both sides of the blade?”

“Yes. I was hoping that wouldn’t be a problem, since you mentioned it’s a durable blade.”

Leone covered his mouth with his hand and narrowed his black eyes.

I checked over it several times, but maybe there’s something wrong with it? Anxious, Dahlia glanced at Oswald, who was also frowning. He looked like a college examiner the way his silver eyes traced the circuit.

“Did you draw this yourself, Dahlia?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It’s quite good, but...this part at the edge here can be consolidated into one line. That will give you room to make the magic starting point a bit thicker, which will allow for faster activation, even if only by a few seconds.”

“Thank you for pointing that out! I didn’t notice that.”

Dahlia immediately redrew the part Oswald had identified and then handed the blueprint back to him. He spent a little more time looking it up and down, gave a satisfied nod, and then turned to Leone.

After Leone took a good look at the blueprint, he turned to face Volf.

“Hmm... I have one condition. Lord Volf, I want this sword to be blood bonded to Lord Jonas. Only then will I enchant both sides. If anyone other than Jonas holds it for a length of time, they could get badly burned.”

“I understand, Mr. Leone. You have my word on that. But what if Master Jonas were to pass down this sword to his child, or...”

“It will make a fine heirloom even if it no longer produces flames. And if it’s that much of a concern, the enchantment can always be removed by a mage with high magic,” Oswald reassured him.

Dahlia was relieved to hear that. She wanted to prioritize safety, but she also wouldn’t want to decrease the long-term value of that beautiful sword.

“Where are the fire dragon’s—I mean, Lord Jonas’s scales?”

“Right here.”

Dahlia opened up a magically sealed box, revealing a row of peculiar streamlined scales. Jonas, who was possessed by a fire dragon, had plucked these from his own arm. Dahlia recalled how painful it had looked as blood oozed from his arm.

“They hold quite a bit of magic, but do you mind if I use two of them?” Leone asked.

“Please, go ahead.”

“Let’s see now... I’ll have to draw two circuits as mirror images, one on either side, and enchant them with these scales...” Leone muttered, his voice dropping slightly in pitch.

Dahlia was struck with sudden worry. “Um, I’m sorry to ask, but will you be all right to do this, Mr. Leone?”

“We can delay things, so there’s no need to push yourself,” Volf advised emphatically.

Their plan had been to work on Guido’s wand right after Jonas’s sword. However, since the sword needed to be enchanted on two sides, Dahlia wondered if it would be better to save the wand for another day.

Leone scratched at his white beard. “Not to worry. I have more than enough magic. My family was an earldom until my grandfather’s time, so even my generation has retained a high magical grade. Though our name was besmirched when we were demoted to a viscountcy after failing to pay taxes.”

“You’ve been very successful as the Merchants’ guildmaster. I heard you’ve even received endorsements for promotion to earl,” Volf said.

“I’ve always been driven by making money and never gave thought to contributing to the kingdom. Someone like me, with no honor to his name, will stay as a viscount,” Leone replied flatly. He took the scales from the magically sealed box and laid them on the table.

Books on noble etiquette stressed the importance of avoiding the topic of court rank, especially when it came to demotions. Dahlia wasn’t sure if she should respond to Leone or stay quiet. Before she could decide, Oswald squinted his silver eyes at her in a smile.

“You mustn’t fall for Lord Leone’s jokes, you two.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

Both Dahlia and Volf thought back over Leone’s words to see if there was anything deceptive about them, but nothing came to mind.

“He’s already busy as the Merchants’ guildmaster. If he became an earl, he would become even busier, which would mean less time to spend with Gabriella. That is his true reason.”

“I see...”

Volf smiled; Dahlia almost did the same. She actually wasn’t sure what sort of face to make. Oswald might have just been joking to lighten the mood, but she also could see his statement being true.

As for Leone, it was unclear if he was listening or not. The guildmaster-slash-viscount had reduced the red scales to dust as if they were nothing.

“Pah, it’s no laughing matter,” Leone muttered.

Once he was certain that he had enough red powder, he took off his jacket, unbuttoned his cuff links, and rolled the sleeves of his white silk shirt up to his elbows.

“Lord Leone, will you not wear work gloves?” Oswald asked.

“I have no need for them. They make it harder to make adjustments.”

Once he had his answer, Oswald took Leone’s jacket. It looked like something he had done many times before.

“Stand back a bit. Just in case,” Leone warned.

“Is the enchantment that dangerous?” Volf asked.

Leone kept his black eyes on the sword as he responded. “No. It’s simply that I have poor control over my magic. I never learned it as a child. All I did was make magic crystals.”

Those with compatible magic could refill exhausted magic crystals. Everyone with a certain level of magic, be they nobles or commoners, was taught how to control it from an early age. The same went for those who could use strengthening magic. This was to prevent wielders from endangering themselves or others. For people whose magic was so high that it was outside of their family’s capability to teach them, then they could learn at a school or, in some cases, at the temple. Tuition was free.

However, if Leone had been making magic crystals before even learning magic control, Dahlia could only imagine that his guardians had made him work despite knowing the dangers, or else they had been totally disinterested in his well-being and had neglected him. She kept silent as she waited for him to continue.

“I was admitted to the magical toolmaking program in college, but I wasn’t able to keep up a steady output of low magic. It was Carlo who taught me how to control it.”

“My father?”

But Leone was older than him. Why was my father teaching him?

“My instructor’s explanations weren’t getting through to me, but Carlo showed me an exercise that made things click. He bored a hole in a metal plate and had me practice channeling magic through that... It was painful.”

“Ah, yes. I remember seeing club members holding their fingers in front of a smiling Carlo,” Oswald said.

“Yes, because if you failed, it hurt your fingers...”

Dahlia smiled as she recalled going through the same training as a child. Volf looked puzzled, so she explained it to him.

“You’re supposed to channel magic through a hole in a metal plate that’s been coated in sealsilver. If you can’t keep the magic flowing straight through the hole, it rebounds off the plate and hits your fingers, which hurts a bit.”

When the magic recoiled, it hit one’s fingers with a light snap. If one failed the exercise several times in a row, it quickly became quite painful. Sometimes, Dahlia used to get so frustrated with her inability to channel magic through what was a fairly large hole that she had stubbornly kept going until her fingers were bright red.

She had thought it was standard training for magical toolmakers, but apparently her father had made the exercise up himself. Incidentally, her father had been able to channel his magic through a hole the width of a strand of hair and then make it split apart on the other side. That level of control was still beyond Dahlia.

“You went through that training too, Dahlia?” Oswald asked.

“Yes, I did it often as a child. I remember it being painful when I made repeated mistakes.”

“When you were a child...?”

The face Oswald made was hard to read. Dahlia couldn’t tell if he was thinking nostalgically of the past or remembering the pain of failure.

“We don’t have much time. Let’s begin,” Leone said.

“Dahlia, prepare yourself for the magic tremors,” Oswald warned. “Sir Volf, could please stand in front of her?”

“Of course.”

Magic tremors were a condition similar to motion sickness, brought on by the strong magical energy released during enchantments. The day she observed Director Uros of the Royal Magical Toolmaking Department perform an enchantment, she’d been unprepared and had almost fainted. That time as well, Volf had quickly stepped in front of her to shield her.

“No, I’ll be okay. I’m prepared for it this time.”

She appreciated Oswald’s concern, but she wouldn’t be able to see Leone enchant the sword if she was standing behind Volf. She had been the one to draw up the plan for the magical circuitry. She’d asked Leone to enchant it, but if she were to be shielded behind Volf’s back, that would only impede her education as a magical toolmaker. As long as she made an effort to withstand the strong magic, she was sure she wouldn’t collapse.

Volf looked worried for a moment but ultimately said nothing.

“Now then, I will begin the enchantment.”

Three seconds after Leone said those words, a dense magic spread over the table.

Dahlia’s eyes widened in shock. Up to this point in her life, she had seen the enchantments of her father and Oswald, her college teachers and classmates, and the castle toolmakers Uros and Carmine. Each of their magic came out like a ribbon or a thread, or in the case of magical toolmakers with a lot of magic, like a rippling piece of fabric.

But the enchantment being performed in front of her now was completely different. Between Leone’s hands, which he held open above the worktable, emerged a mass of bluish-white magic. The mass absorbed the powdered scales off the tray, its color changing to a vibrant magenta.

“Flame fixing.”

Leone’s eyes changed from black to navy to cobalt.

Like an angry red snake, magic coursed over the one-handed sword from hilt to tip, drawing a deep crimson magical circuit as it did. It was over in the blink of an eye.

“Oswald.”

His name was all he needed to hear. The silver-haired man carefully flipped the sword upside down, and Leone continued his work on the other side. The red magical energy ran over the blade, once again completing the magical circuitry in seconds.

“It’s done,” Leone said as if speaking to himself.

Then he brought his hands together, sending the remaining ball of magic on the table scattering in all directions. For an instant, Dahlia felt her body sway with the wave of dispersing magic.

“Dahlia, you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

Volf must have noticed her digging her heels in. She thought she’d braced herself well enough, but she had nearly fallen backward. She had honestly not been expecting this kind of power. Dahlia swallowed her nausea and tried to appear composed. She focused her attention on Leone’s hands.

“Not too shabby...” Leone said as he turned the sword over. The dark red blade glinted bluish-white.

Strangely, Dahlia didn’t sense any magic from it, and neither could she see a single inch of the magical circuitry. What had happened to that circuit, which had looked so bold against the sword just a moment ago? Maybe the enchantment failed? Dahlia wondered, but at that moment, Leone picked up the sword in both hands, stepped back two paces, and gripped the hilt.

“Huh...?”

Two things happened at once: First, she felt a wave of magic in the air; second, red magical circuits emerged on both sides of the blade. From those gleaming mirrored circuits burst forth vivid flames, red and yellow. They enveloped the sword, doubled, then tripled in length—until they suddenly vanished, along with the magical circuit.

Once he was done inspecting it, Leone turned his dark blue eyes to Dahlia.

“I made it so the circuit is invisible unless magic is channeled into it. That was my reason for using two scales—one for power, and the other for concealment. I can only explain it in terms of feeling, but if you send a strong blast of magic into it, you can, so to speak, push the circuit inside.”

“Concealment... You can do that with fire dragon scales?”

“It’s most likely a type of camouflage. Juvenile dragons can blend into their surroundings.”

“Juvenile dragons...”

Dahlia started to imagine Jonas not as a dragon but as a child, then shook the image away. That’s completely different.

But Oswald seemed to read her mind. “Though Jonas himself is an adult, he could still be classified as a juvenile based on the length of time he’s been blighted and his level of magic,” he said breezily.

“Master Jonas, a juvenile...” Volf muttered. She almost wanted to step on his foot. Now she was back to picturing the image she had just dispelled.

“Chairwoman Dahlia, this sword will produce quite powerful flames when Lord Jonas channels magic into it. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, I’ve been told he can make the flames quite large. But I also heard it wasn’t on the level of what the castle mages are capable of, and that Guido should be able to stop any fires from starting.”

Those were Guido’s words, which she had heard through Volf.

A wrinkle formed between Leone’s brows and he shifted his gaze to Volf. “Lord Volf, don’t you think you neglected to inform the sword’s developer of a few things?”

“I’m sorry. Since Master Jonas will be the only one using it, I just... I wasn’t thinking.”

Dahlia wasn’t sure what they were talking about, so Volf filled her in.

“When Master Jonas channels magic into the sword, he can give the flames much more power than we can testing things out here.”

“I know that, but won’t the flames just go out if he swings it hard? It’s not as if it’s enchanted with air magic...”

“He can keep the flames going as long as he keeps putting magic into it, and he can direct them by pointing the sword. In fact, in his hand, the flames of the Crimson Lotus Blade were so strong that they scorched his own sleeve.”

“Don’t tell me—did he burn his hand?!” Dahlia asked in a panic.

“Someone blighted by a fire-breathing dragon won’t be burned that easily,” Leone reassured her.

His eyes, blue just moments ago, had reverted to their usual black. And although he had just performed advanced enchantments one right after another, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Is there any possibility this sword will be powerful enough to burn even Master Jonas?”

“I made it so the heat gets directed outward, and even that can be manipulated based on his handling of the sword. But no one else who uses this sword will be able to produce the power of flames that Lord Jonas can. If he goes all out with this sword, he could turn a room into a blazing inferno in seconds.”

“So not even mages who specialize in fire magic can use this sword to produce even stronger flames?” Volf asked.

Oswald answered his question with another. “Lord Volf, whose scales were used to enchant this sword?”

“Master Jonas’s scales... Oh!”

Volf was quick to get it, and so was Dahlia. It was only natural that he’d be compatible with a sword enchanted using his own scales.

“Lord Jonas will find this sword to feel like an extension of his own arm. In fact, I previously heard that he was reluctant to part with the Crimson Lotus Blade. Whether others with fire dragon blights will be able to wield it, I can’t say. That is why I wish that he be blood bonded to it.”

It would truly be a sword only for Jonas.

Leone checked to see that the blade had cooled down, then carefully sheathed it.

“Magical tools used as weapons are different from tools for daily life,” he said. “They have their uses, but that largely depends on who is wielding them. Remember that.”

“Yes, I will.”

It was clear that she was being given a warning: She ought never to make a weapon if she didn’t know who would be using it or for what purpose. Maybe I should just stick to what I’m good at—making tools for daily living, not weapons. I do want to continue making magical swords for Volf, though.

As Dahlia’s mind churned, Oswald approached her and asked, “Dahlia, could you show me the wand as well as the plans for the magical circuit that we’ll be enchanting next?”

“Yes, of course.”

Volf had shifted the tray that held the one-handed sword and the scales to a shelf, so Dahlia laid out the other materials.

“This is the wand. I combined two hati bones and made them extendable, like so. Also, here is the blueprint for the magical circuit I need enchanted, and here are the ice dragon scales.”

With the mythril tools, Dahlia had successfully carved the hati bones. Fermo had added the finishing touches; he’d said he was merely checking it over, but with three quick incisions, he had made it so the wand collapsed and extended with incredible smoothness. Dahlia had been so much in awe of his craftsmanship that she’d extended and contracted the wand dozens of times. No one needed to know that last part, though.

“Now this is an interesting construction. Very clever,” Leone said approvingly.

Flattered by his compliment, Dahlia smiled as she laid out the two pages of blueprints. “Thank you. The wand is hollow. My idea is to draw circuits on the inside and outside,” she explained.

Leone’s black and Oswald’s silver eyes scanned over the schematics. The silence made Dahlia strangely nervous. Even Volf was quiet.

Finally, Leone spoke. “Oswald, I’ll leave the inside to you.”

“You invited me here to act as your assistant. Are you sure you want me to draw the circuit?”

“Drawing circuits in areas I can’t see is beyond my capabilities. If I slip up, I could ruin the entire thing.”

“Very well. I will handle the interior, then.”

“We can discuss payment later—”

Dahlia cut in boldly on their whispered conversation. “Mr. Leone! I will cover Professor Oswald’s payment.”

“Will you, Dahlia?” Oswald asked. “In that case, all I ask as payment is that you teach Raulaere how to make a voice caster. As that is Carlo’s invention, it’s not an easy tool for me to teach.”

“Understood.”

Dahlia wasn’t sure if teaching Oswald’s son, Raulaere, was truly a fair trade given the complexity of the enchantment he’d be doing for her, but she vowed to do her best all the same.

“Allow me twenty minutes of rest before we enchant the wand,” Leone said. He sat down on a chair and took out a mana potion. After quaffing it, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. His air of deep concentration suggested an artisan who did not wish to be disturbed.

Dahlia looked back at Oswald. He had taken off his glasses and was examining the blueprints in his hands. His silver eyes gradually narrowed to slits, and his mouth formed a hard curve. He seemed to be smiling, but it somehow gave Dahlia a bad feeling, and Volf likewise appeared apprehensive. She and he looked at each other, but neither said a word.

It was then that Dahlia realized something: Oswald’s magic was just sufficient to draw the circuit on the inside of the hati wand. His original purpose in coming here had been to assist Leone. It was entirely possible that he’d spent the day making magical tools for the Zola Company and had already exhausted some of the magic he’d need for this second task.

“Um, excuse me, Professor Oswald, but would you like a mana potion too?” Dahlia asked in a small voice.

The silver-haired man slowly shook his head. “No, thank you. I was merely thinking that this will be a very rewarding circuit to draw.”

Oswald turned his usual elegant smile on her. It seemed Dahlia had been fretting about nothing.

Leone rose from his chair, so Dahlia took that moment to introduce their next project, the wand. She brought out the snow flurry swizzle stick and channeled a small amount of magic into the kelpie bone. Small, round grains of ice drifted softly onto the table.

“Here’s my first attempt at the wand, the snow flurry swizzle stick.”

“Quite pretty...” Oswald said, his silver eyes smiling with amusement. Dahlia had to agree. It was fun to watch the white pellets tumble across the table.

“I have never combined kelpie bone with a magic ice crystal. You could even connect a series of bones to make a long staff.” Oswald spoke rapidly, staring at the snow flurry swizzle stick with eyes that reminded Dahlia of his son, Raul.

“Would you like to take it home with you?” Dahlia offered.

“Is that quite all right? I’m sure you put a great deal of work into making this.”

“Not at all. I learned the circuit from Mr. Leone, and the enchantment was easy enough. Kelpie bone seems to be compatible with ice crystals, but the unit variations among my prototypes make them unsuitable for sale. They’re good for chilling drinks, or you could drizzle honey on top of the ice to make a frozen dessert.”

Dahlia knew that both of Oswald’s wives had sweet tooths. Thinking back on how much Raul had seemed to enjoy the honey jelly snack he’d eaten during their break from their lesson the other day, she suspected the same was true of him.

“A frozen dessert... My wives and son will be delighted. I will happily take it, then. I’ll offer you some materials in exchange. Lord Leone, I seem to remember that Gabriella enjoys frozen desserts too, isn’t that right?”

“She is fond of them, yes. Chairwoman Dahlia, would you mind? I can give you—”

“No, please you don’t need to give me anything. I learned how to make this from you, anyway, and you’ve been letting me use your name to decline adoption offers, so consider this as a small repayment for that,” Dahlia said, remembering the note Ivano had given her.

Leone was a guarantor of her company, and they had often used his name, including on the many occasions when she’d had to decline letters sounding out the prospect of adoption or marriage. Her debt to him would only increase from here. There was no way she could accept money or gifts from him.

Leone’s eyes softened, and he nodded lightly. As a way of bringing the discussion to a close, Dahlia enlisted Volf’s help in setting up the hati wand on the worktable. They stood it upright on supports, and the bluish-white bone glinted silver.

“So it’s two bones combined, and we’re drawing a circuit on the inside and outside of each? I’m reminded of Carlo...”

Leone was muttering almost as if to himself, but his comment did not escape Dahlia’s attention.

“My father did this type of enchantment?!” She had never seen or heard of her father doing such a thing.

“No... Well, I heard that Carlo’s father—your grandfather—carried out internal enchantments. When we were students, Carlo grumbled about not being able to do it.”

“My grandfather...”

“It is entirely likely that Carlo would have been capable of it a few years ago,” Oswald commented.

“Really?”

Her father hadn’t taught her anything about this kind of enchantment. She would have loved the opportunity to ask him about it in detail while he was still alive.

“Knowing how well you draw circuits at your age, I imagine you’ll work out the trick in about ten years,” Leone told her.

“I’m not so sure about that. Drawing a magical circuit is very different from being able to enchant one in a spot I can’t see...” Dahlia said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Drawing a magical circuit just took planning and some calculations. As long as it was within the limits of her magical capacity, Dahlia had no problem drawing one herself. But controlling and channeling her magic where she couldn’t see it was impossible for her. Her father’s spellbook explained the theory, but all she’d derived from reading it was the certainty that the task was completely outside of her capabilities. It was frustrating.

“Diligence and practice are all you need,” Oswald told her with a smile.

Apparently, after her father, she needed to surpass her grandfather as well. Achieving either task seemed like it would take an eternity. If only both of them had lived longer, she could have gone to them and asked methods and tricks for enchanting. She could have learned from them as their apprentice.

From her side came a whisper full of trust and confidence. “I believe in you, Dahlia.”

Volf’s smile was contagious—she felt the corners of her own mouth turning up.

There was no point in sulking or getting impatient. Fortunately, she was still young by the standards of magical toolmakers. Though she was all too conscious of her inexperience, she still had time to catch up to what her father and grandfather had been capable of at their ages. If she was ambitious, then she could live long enough to someday surpass them.

“All right, then, let’s begin this enchantment.”

Leone gently removed the ice dragon scales, glassy and pale blue, from the magically sealed box. He placed them on the tray on the worktable and, just as he had with Jonas’s scales, easily reduced them to a small mound of light blue powder.

“Stand back.”

At Leone’s words, all three of them stepped away from the workbench. Just as before, Leone spread his hands and produced a bluish-white ball of magic. It absorbed the powdered ice dragon scales, which seemed to melt away in an instant.

Next, Leone enveloped the hati wand in the sphere of magic, then brought his hands together as if squeezing it.

“Ice fixing,” he intoned.

Dahlia again felt a wave of magic, but this time, she managed to withstand it without losing her balance. Within the sphere of white haze, a pale blue circuit coursed over the surface of the hati wand. It trembled with a high-pitched ringing sound.

“Oswald,” Leone called as he lowered his hands.

The silver-haired man approached the workbench and removed the hati wand from the stand.

“Let us switch before the magic fixes.” Oswald said. “It will take me some time to do my part, so please allow me to sit while I work. Everyone else may take this time to rest.”

Oswald sat down in a chair facing the workbench. He appeared entirely relaxed. Instead of putting on work gloves, he picked up the wand with his bare hands.

“This enchantment will be done according to Carlo’s theory, and it will be my battle. Speak not a word of what you see here to anyone, please.”

“‘Battle’?” Volf repeated quizzically.

Dahlia, too, thought she might have misheard him. However, it soon became clear just how apt that word had been.

Oswald placed the remaining ice dragon scale powder into the palm of his right hand, then gave it a slow shake to combine it with his magic, producing a minute sphere of light. He squeezed his hand shut and turned it upside down.

After a few moments, a very thin stream of silver magic began to flow from between the first two fingers of his right hand.

The magic, thin as spider silk, moved toward the inside of the wand, which Oswald held in his left hand. Before entering the hollow wand, the stream began to weave together in midair, forming a fine, helical circuit that tapered toward the tip.

It wasn’t only the magic that reminded Dahlia of spider silk. The intricate circuit, glimmering with silver light as it formed, looked like a beautiful web inviting its prey. The two threads of silver magic formed a single line, with the second thread layering itself over the first before it was fixed. The two layers matched perfectly in thickness, power, and placement. Then, little by little, the braided magic entered the wand.

Oswald used neither strong magic nor any flashy movements. All the enchantment required was a consistent weaving of weak magic. Nonetheless, it left all those watching spellbound and breathless.

Dahlia felt a thrill pass through her at the precise mechanical movements of the fine threads of silver magic. This was the first time she had seen an enchantment even more intricate than those of her father, Carlo Rossetti.

It felt as if time had ceased to flow within the room when Oswald at last said quietly, “Ice fixing.”

The inside of the wand glowed bluish-white for an instant before Oswald gently set it down on the tray. The last fine traces of silver magic vanished like a spider web being blown away in a breeze.

Interlude: Reflections of a Silver Fox

The morning sun was not yet visible, but the dark blue sky was edged with pale scarlet. A carriage made its way down the nobles’ quarter, its wheels clattering lightly over the road.

“I had too much to drink...”

Oswald leaned back in his seat and let out an alcohol-soaked sigh. For the first time in a while, he had drunk without restraint, as he had when he was a younger man. Leone had joined him in doing so. If Oswald told his younger self about Leone, the so-called miserly viscount, popping the cork off the next wine bottle before they had even finished the one before it, he would have dismissed it with a laugh.

Oswald worried that this overnight binge drinking session would affect his day’s work, but he still didn’t feel like he wanted to put on the bracelet in his inner pocket that would sober him up. It had been so long since he’d had a drink with Leo and reminisced about their school days. It wasn’t just the wine he was drunk on but also the enjoyment of forgetting their noble statuses. He didn’t want to sober up from that quite yet.

He closed his eyes and the clatter of the carriage wheels turned into a lullaby.

“I hope you can find a magical toolmaker to serve as your right-hand man...”

When his father had uttered those words as if speaking to himself, Oswald—a college student at the time—had nodded vaguely. Oswald had low magic for a noble, and he couldn’t wield any of the four elements or use healing magic. Becoming a mage or a knight was not in his future.

Fortunately, his family was a wealthy viscountcy. When he decided to study magical toolmaking in college, his father had said this:

“I will set up a company in your name, and you can employ magical toolmakers to work for you. Establish connections with those in your magical toolmaking classes or clubs whom you get along with.”

Oswald followed that advice. Once he started college, he made friends in his classes and decided to join the Magical Tool Research Group. As soon as he nervously opened the door to the clubroom, he was greeted by a voice.

“Welcome to the Magical Tool Research Group! Oh, and talk to me like you would a friend. We’re not that far apart in age.”

The voice belonged to a young man with bright eyes as green as spring, and he spoke with none of the authoritative air of an older student. Their introductions and Oswald’s induction into the club were over with surprising quickness.

Carlo Rossetti was the type of person to turn a genuine smile to an underclassman he had just met. To Oswald, who was accustomed to aristocratic insincerity, it was very refreshing to see.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Rossetti.”

“Likewise! And call me Carlo.”

“All right, then please call me Oz, Carlo.”

Carlo’s father was Baron Rossetti, the inventor of the famous magical lantern. As the son of that toolmaker, Carlo already had experience making magical tools and was quite skilled at enchanting.

But Carlo was never a braggart. He was cheerful and friendly and was always looking to help others who needed it. Sometimes he would get a bit wild when magical tools were involved, but even that was just one of his quirks.

As someone who’d had very few friends in primary school, Oswald felt he had found his place in college and the Magical Tool Research Group. He listened to the older students share their knowledge about magical tools and how to draw magical circuits, and he practiced making magical tools, an endeavor that was always full of excitement. He and his classmates helped one another out with subjects they were more proficient in, exchanged notes, and had fun in their extracurriculars. During his time off, he would either go to the workshop of the magical toolmaker he apprenticed under or spend time with his new friends.

He received the attention of girls, not only those also studying magical toolmaking but throughout the entire school, with some even handing him embroidered white handkerchiefs as confessions of love. Those days, which could truly be called the springtime of his life, were fun and dazzling.

And yet Oswald felt a coldness within him. In primary school, he had been overweight and withdrawn, and he’d had few friends. His grades were good, but his classmates had made fun of his appearance behind his back. Even his first girlfriend had only confessed to him as a prank. That fake relationship had left Oswald feeling depressed.

He was able to get back on his feet with the help of his family, but he couldn’t help but feel that if he were to become overweight again, all the girls flocking to him now wouldn’t give him the time of day. He would always have to be mindful of his weight and take care of his appearance.

When he entered college, he had been awakened to the delight of magical toolmaking, but he knew that someone with magic as low as his had no hope of becoming an exceptional magical toolmaker. His father would establish a company for him, and Oswald would be relegated to employing skilled magical toolmakers and telling them what to make.

Bitter though he was about those two facts, he also felt there was nothing he could do about them. He accepted his future with resignation.

But then Carlo came in and turned everything on its head.

“Oz, what was the tastiest flower nectar you drank when you were a kid?” Carlo suddenly asked him one day, holding a sugar pot for tea. They were in the clubroom of the Magical Tool Research Group.

“Flower nectar?” Oswald repeated. He had no memory of ever doing such a thing as a child.

Flowers grew in the garden of his home, or he could purchase a bouquet from a florist. As for flower nectar, that was something purchased in glass bottles. When Oswald explained as much, other noble-born students voiced their agreement.

“You’ve never drunk flower nectar? You just leave it all for the bees? Everyone, you’re missing out!”

Oswald found Carlo’s assertion absurd, but his interest was piqued. On their next free day, they decided to meet under the pretense of collecting materials for magical tools. Carlo, Oswald, and anyone else in their research group who wanted to join wandered around the Green Tower and the gates of the capital. Their mission was finding flowers to suck their nectar.

There were plenty of scarlet sage growing behind the Green Tower. Carlo’s mother had kindly told them to help themselves with a smile. Oswald timidly plucked one of the red flowers and saw only a few drops of nectar at its base. Still, it had an unforgettable, delicate sweetness.

Their next stop was a meadow near the gates of the capital. They searched for wildflowers under the azure sky, plucking them and sucking their nectar as they went. Some flowers had no nectar at all, and sometimes the boys found themselves getting chased by the bees that had gotten there first.

Whenever Oswald finally found nectar to drink, he discovered that each flower had its own unique scent and flavor, each one as sweet as the last.

There were many sons of nobles among the participants, Oswald included, which meant that they had bodyguards in tow as well. Even they, stone-faced as they were at first, eventually joined them in drinking the nectar and discussing their favorite flavors.

“Rossetti, which flowers have the best tasting nectar?” one of the bodyguards asked.

“I recommend scarlet sage, honeysuckle, and milk vetch!” Carlo said with a boundlessly cheerful smile, making all the bodyguards grin as well.

Oswald had discovered that his favorite was milk vetch. It was a lovely pink and white flower that was hard to pluck properly and held only a small amount of nectar. Yet nothing beat its mellow sweetness, which retained the scent of the flower itself.

That day, everyone stayed out until evening walking among the flowers until finally making their way back home.

For a while after that, Oswald became obsessed with nectar. Even at home, he began spreading a thin layer of honey on his bread. Sometimes he considered that he should stop, since he had made so much progress on his diet. When he had those thoughts, the honey didn’t taste very sweet at all.

One time, Carlo had walked into the school restroom at the same time Oswald was there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He weighed himself every day, but he couldn’t help but think that his face looked rounder now. Unable to keep that worry to himself, he voiced it aloud.

“Carlo, do you think I’ve gotten softer lately?”

Carlo widened his green eyes and replied, “You’ve always been soft, Oz. You’re nice and you hardly ever get mad. In fact, I think you could stand to relax a little more.”

I was asking about my appearance, not my personality.

Oswald found himself bringing up a painful memory in spite of himself.

“Well, um, people call me the Silver Fox these days, but when I was in primary school, people called me the Gray Piglet. I was on the heavy side...”

“Really? Well, weight fluctuates, and your hair looks nice, whether you call it gray or silver.”

Oswald wished he wouldn’t say something like that so lightly. It made him feel small for having worried about it, and he wasn’t sure if Carlo’s statement made him feel embarrassed or happy.

“Carlo...” Oswald mumbled, unable to hold back his frown.

“Oh, sorry! I guess that’s not such a great nickname. Silver Fox sounds much cooler than Gray Piglet!”

Carlo had apologized for the wrong thing, but for some reason, Oswald nodded anyway.

After that, Oswald stopped worrying so much about his weight. Instead, he decided to keep himself handsome in his hairstyle, physique, and clothing with the positive outlook that befit a silver fox. Once he did, he began receiving even more embroidered handkerchiefs from the female students...and even more resentful looks from the male students.

One day, the members of the Magical Tool Research Group were gathered in the clubroom discussing their futures. Many of the noble upperclassmen already had their places of employment decided, but some also aspired to be magical toolmakers for the castle or to apprentice at a workshop. When Oswald was asked about his plans, he spoke honestly.

“I’m planning on starting a company that sells magical tools when I graduate. I’ll be managing the business, and I’ll find magical toolmakers to be in charge of production.”

“Why wouldn’t you be involved in the creation process, Oz? I bet you could even invent a new tool yourself.”

When Oswald first joined the club, Carlo had told him that he could make magical tools despite his low magic. Now, he was telling him he could even invent magical tools.

“Please, be realistic, Carlo. You saw how my sea serpent hand mirror ended up, remember?”

Oswald had undertaken that project the other day. The color had been mottled, and air bubbles had marred its surface. It had no practical use at all. Somehow, Leone had been able to sell it by calling it not a magical tool but the work of an up-and-coming artist, so he had ended up breaking even.

“Control is learned with time! Enchantments come with practice! That’s what my dad tells me, at least,” Carlo said.

“That’s a Rossetti saying if I ever heard one...” another student remarked.

Everyone in the room had to admit he was right. Carlo performed admirable enchantments, but word was they were nothing compared to what his father, Baron Rossetti, was capable of.

Improving one’s magical toolmaking skills required time and consistent practice. That was all. There were no shortcuts, much to the disappointment of the young students.

But when Oswald heard that, his eyes lit up without his even realizing it. It was late for him to start aspiring to be a magical toolmaker, but he enjoyed making tools and he did not mind practicing enchanting. In fact, he greatly enjoyed learning how to make new magical tools from his teachers and his upperclassmen.

If he continued to devote himself to practicing and churning out as many tools as he could, then perhaps even he could become a full-fledged magical toolmaker. And as Carlo suggested, the idea of owning his own company and inventing his own tools did have its appeal. Oswald decided to make significant changes to his life plan.

In truth, he would have liked to work with Carlo, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice that aloud.

In school, Oswald devoted himself to his studies, practicing control over his magic, and making magical tools. He had a fun and rambunctious time with his friends in the Magical Tool Research Group, and he experienced many joys and sorrows in love.

Throughout that time, Carlo was there to give him advice. Whether it be about school or magical tools, romance or family, Oswald felt he could go to him for any problem he had. There were even times when Carlo asked him for advice, mainly pertaining to magic or magical tools.

At some point, Oswald felt that coldness within him had faded. His life at school had been a fulfilling time that made a lasting impression on him.

Oswald graduated one year after Carlo did.

After establishing his company at a young age, he threw himself into his roles as a chairman and a magical toolmaker. His family told him several times that he would collapse if he overworked himself and that he should give up trying to juggle two occupations. But he couldn’t make himself quit. He wanted to be both.

He fell in and out of love, got married only for his marriage to fall apart, and his business went through a rough patch. After he finally invented a new magical tool, he felt his skill and magic had hit a plateau and he would never be capable of making another one. He had a hard time doing business with nobles and nearly drowned trying to swim in their world.

Oswald experienced many high peaks and low valleys over the years. The lowest valley of all was his failed first marriage. After his wife and apprentice ran off together, taking the money from his shop with them, there came a day when Oswald thought it would be easier to end it all.

Having presumably heard about the situation from somewhere, Carlo suddenly appeared at his door. He dragged Oswald to a food stall and made him drink and vent his feelings. Then Carlo brought him home to the Green Tower, encouraging him as they went that he should make a new magical tool for his daughter, Dahlia.

With renewed motivation, Oswald made the cooling fan, and business for his company and shop began to boom as if things had reverted to normal—no, better than normal.

Every time he looked at a cooling fan, he thought about the fact that if Carlo hadn’t come for him that day, he might have left this world for good. I’ll pay him back someday. One day, I’ll be his peer as a magical toolmaker, not merely an underclassman trying to live up to his senior.

Oswald continued to interact with Carlo in social situations, such as baronial dinners and other business-related events. However, for the past few years, it had seemed as if Carlo was avoiding him. Each time he felt that way, Oswald brushed it off as just being his imagination. They both had busy schedules, after all.

It was only now that Oswald wondered why he had never just asked Carlo about it directly when he had the chance.

The last time Oswald saw Carlo, it was at a baronial event hosted by an earl. Oswald spotted Carlo alongside a wall and called out to him.

“It’s been a while, Carlo.”

“Ah, Oz. Yes, that it has,” Carlo replied. His face looked ashen.

“Has your work been busy?” Oswald asked worriedly. “You look a bit pale in the face.”

Carlo responded with his usual wry smirk. “Just a hangover.”

“Be careful about drinking too much. For your daughter’s sake as well as your own.”

“I was drinking with a friend yesterday. This isn’t a regular thing.”

The first thought to cross Oswald’s mind was I’m jealous. After his failed first marriage, the only time he drank with Carlo was at one of these baron parties. They had gone out to lunch after running into each other at the Merchants’ Guild a few times, but they had never talked the night away. Oswald’s work and home life had finally settled down recently. He wanted to spend some with Carlo talking about the good old days.

“Carlo, what do you say we—”

...have a drink together? he wanted to say, but before Oswald could finish his sentence, someone called out to Carlo. Over walked the earl who was hosting the evening’s event.

“Baron Rossetti, there is someone here who would like to have a word with you in another room. You—Baron Zola, you are welcome to come if you’d like.”

The event was a standing buffet, with people occasionally moving into separate rooms to have private conversations. Refusing was not an option when the earl called for you to accompany him to one of those rooms.

Before Oswald could give his consent, Carlo put up his left hand to stop him.

“Excuse me, Chairman Zola. It seems someone is waiting for me.”

Carlo had called him Chairman Zola instead of Oz. Perhaps the person he didn’t want Oswald to meet was an important client, or perhaps a woman. Oswald decided to stand down without pressing further.

“I still have a few people to say hello to, so I will wait for the next opportunity,” he said.

It seemed his presence wasn’t important there anyway. The earl accompanied Carlo as he made his way out of the great hall.

Suddenly, Carlo turned around and said, “Oz, look after your health, and get along with your wives!”

It wasn’t like Carlo to say something so patronizing, but he spoke with his usual smile.

Carlo never returned to the great hall. In fact, Oswald never saw him again. He was away from the capital on business, so he only heard about Carlo’s passing at the end of spring.

“You’re gone too soon, Carlo...”

Oswald made his overdue visit to the graveyard alone and voiced his regret aloud. But he knew there was no bringing someone back from the dead, so although he felt sorrow for his friend’s death, he went about his days more or less as usual.

However, the ties that bound people together were mysterious things. One day, Volfred, the fourth son of the Scalfarotto family—a family that was one of Oswald’s clients—appeared in his shop along with Carlo’s daughter.

It was as though Carlo had known this would happen. Just as he’d promised, Oswald gave his daughter, Dahlia, the card to enter his magical tool shop.

Dahlia told Oswald about how Carlo had used his invention, the cooling fan, and how he had often spoken of Oswald and considered him a friend. When he heard that, Oswald felt like a load he had been carrying for years had been lifted off his chest.

Oswald maintained a relationship with Dahlia after that. He became her magical toolmaking teacher, taking over from Carlo, who had passed before her training was complete. It was something that made Oswald happy to do. He felt that he had repaid a little of his debt to Carlo.

Dahlia was a hard worker, and although she had a low magical grade, she absorbed knowledge and techniques like blotting paper. Oswald thought she might be a good influence on his son, Raulaere. And, well, she might have sparked a pining in him, but Oswald watched over the two of them with a smile.

Dahlia took flight with astonishing speed. She established a company, invented several new magical tools, gained access to the castle, became advisor to the Order of Beast Hunters, and was now in line to receive a barony.

Dahlia’s explosive success made Oswald apprehensive. It was as if Carlo had been hiding his daughter.

If she joined the Royal Magical Toolmaking Department, headed by Director Uros, where she could develop everyday magical tools or weapons for the Order of Beast Hunters, that would pose no issues. She could one day rise to a viscount, or join the Scalfarotto family, and continue honing her skills as a toolmaker all the while.

However, some toolmakers in the kingdom were expected to do more than that. Oswald did not know who those toolmakers might be, or where they were doing their secretive work. All he knew was that there were magical toolmakers who were handsomely rewarded for creating weapons to keep the kingdom safe. And he’d had to swim in noble society for some time before gleaning even that minimal information.

When Carlo was a student, he had been offered the opportunity to work as a magical toolmaker at the castle. The following year, Oswald’s father had told him that the castle had expressed interest in hiring him as a toolmaker as well, so he had assumed it was a feasible path even for people with low magic but good grades.

“Magical toolmakers of the castle may be restricted by their family status and magical grade. You’ll find that as someone who is the son of a viscount and has low magic, your potential there will be limited. You will find much more freedom in your own company,” his father had told him. Oswald had taken his word for it and declined the offer.

But Carlo’s reason for declining differed from his own.

“I turned down the offer because I wouldn’t be able to make what I want to make,” Carlo had told him. He avoided making eye contact, then lowered his voice and continued, as if to himself, “I don’t want to make magical tools that will make it so I never enjoy a drink again...”

Carlo loved his freedom. At the time, Oswald assumed that Carlo disliked the stuffy atmosphere of the castle or that he would rather invent his own tools than ones he had no interest in, so he only gave a casual response and didn’t probe further.

But now, it nagged at him. Had Carlo’s sudden passing really been due to natural causes, or had it been because he refused to make magical tools that would make alcohol lose its flavor? Or had he declined an order from some high-ranking individual and subsequently been made to disappear? Those suspicions began to take root in Oswald.

He also became suspicious of the fact that his father persuaded him not to accept an offer to be a castle magical toolmaker, but his father was no longer alive for him to ask even if he wanted to. Oswald even tried to ask Leone about Carlo’s cause of death in a roundabout way, but his only response was “I have nothing to tell you about that.” Oswald knew he couldn’t press the viscount for any more details.

If Oswald attempted to gather the threads connected to Carlo’s death, someone might notice. And should those threads lead him back to the royal family or a high-ranking noble, Oswald had no hope of holding his own against them.

But Carlo had been the one to free Oswald from his hangups about his appearance and the one who had shown him his potential as a magical toolmaker when he had been resigned to only managing a company. Carlo had been the one to save Oswald when he had been considering ending his life after his first wife left him.

Carlo was his senior, that was true, but it wasn’t fair how much more he had done for Oswald than the other way around. He felt he could never completely repay him, but if his daughter, Dahlia, was ever being forced to follow a path she didn’t want to take, then Oswald would become the pillar to keep her in place.

As fortune would have it, Oswald would soon be rising to the rank of viscount. If he played all his cards—his position as a viscount, a magical toolmaker who conducted business with the royal family, and chairman of the Zola Company—then he should start to see where those threads connected.

At least right now, Dahlia had the protection of the Scalfarotto family. If Dahlia could stay safe from harm as things were, then all the better. And if this was all needless worry on Oswald’s part, that was just fine too. But if that wasn’t true, if she wasn’t safe—

Suddenly, he heard neighing horses and felt the carriage stop.

The carriage door opened, and standing on the other side was a black-haired woman—his wife, Ermelinda. She must have gotten worried when he didn’t immediately descend from the carriage.

“Welcome home, dear. Are you feeling tired?”

“I drank a bit too much.”

Oswald gave his head a light shake, put on the bracelet in his inner pocket, and poured magic into it. He felt his drunkenness lessen as if being lifted out of his body.

“Mel, thank you for waiting up for me at such a late hour. But next time, please don’t trouble yourself, and get in bed. I have my nighttime guards with me.”

“I didn’t want to miss the chance to see you so late at night—or should I say, first thing in the morning,” his wife replied with a smile. Behind her, the morning sun was starting to rise. Evidently, he had stayed out all night and into the morning. It had been ages since he’d done that.

“Did anything of note happen yesterday?” Oswald asked as he exited the carriage.

“I enchanted my first ring,” Mel said with a modestly proud smile.

That was not an easy task for her as someone who possessed strong magic and had once been an advanced adventurer. It could be rather difficult for someone like that to achieve the optimal focus for enchanting a tool.

“That is wonderful to hear. You’ve been working hard.”

“I have Raul’s effective instruction to thank.”

“Raul...”

Oswald wasn’t about to feel jealous of his own son. Teaching others helped speed up his own learning process, so he of course wanted him to continue doing so. However, he wondered if perhaps Raul was better at teaching others than he himself was. He just felt a little disappointed about that.

“It’s my hope that someday, I can assist you with your work, dear...”

Oswald appreciated Mel’s intentions, but she was still young. He decided to suggest something that might be more practical for the future.

“You’re such a hard worker. I have no doubts you can become a skilled magical toolmaker if you set yourself to the task. How would you feel about having a tutor to teach you magical theory? I can teach you when it comes to magical tools.”

“I would like to learn, but I don’t plan on becoming a magical toolmaker. I am your wife first and foremost, after all,” she said with a smile.

Oswald smiled back at her. “And I am very happy about that.”

They entered the house, ascended the stairs, and walked down the hallway. At the sight of the red glow of the morning sky outside the window, Oswald stopped. The red of the sky reminded him of the hair of Carlo’s daughter.

“Dear?” Mel prodded with a small frown.

He could tell she was worried about him, and he decided to throw her a question that would worry her even more.

“What would you do if I told you there was something I wanted to do even if it should jeopardize my current social status?”

“Ms. Caterina would tell you to entrust the house and children to her, and Ms. Fiore would tell you to entrust the company to her.”

He knew Ermelinda was correct in her suppositions about his other wives.

Caterina was well acquainted with the ways of nobles. She was equipped to take over full responsibility of the Zola family if the need arose, so she would be able to protect the children and make the public think that Oswald was ill or had died from illness. There were also several noble families inside and outside of the kingdom who could shield her, so he wasn’t concerned about her survival.

As for Raulaere’s magical toolmaking education, she would be able to reach out to some private contacts to find adept magical toolmakers to take over for Oswald. Though truthfully, as Raul’s father, he did not want to yield his son’s education to another.

Fiore, meanwhile, was well-versed in the ways of merchants. She would have no trouble taking over the business in Oswald’s absence. Even if she faced pressure in Ordine, Oswald’s younger brother owned a sister company in Ehrlichia. Merchants could choose their countries, unbound by borders.

However, Oswald still hadn’t received an answer from the wife he had posed the question to.

“And you?”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, dear,” she told him frankly.

He had seen this coming. “Then, would you stop me, Mel?”

“No. I would fight by your side, whether our opponents be monsters or humans. I want you to do whatever and follow whatever path you like, dear.”

It was an unsurprising answer coming from a former adventurer. Oswald knew he could always count on her.

“If I go down that path and fail, I might have no choice but to retire. I will make sure you will be better taken care of first.”

Oswald had already set aside enough funds for each of his wives to keep them afloat if anything were to happen to him. But he had to take the worst-case possibilities into consideration as well. It was best he set aside even more money for them.

“I have no need for that. If you retire, I will come with you. If you leave Ordine, I will become an adventurer again and hunt valuable monsters for you. You can use their materials to make magical tools so we can live freely wherever we wish. If we must be forever traveling, well, that would be fun as well.”

Mel looked as if she was rather looking forward to it, but what she spoke of suggested she was ready to follow Oswald in fleeing the country and living on the run. There’s no hiding anything from my wives.

“Was it Caterina who proposed that plan?”

Oswald had told his wives about the extent to which Carlo had saved him. His wife Caterina, who knew what noble society was like, might have picked up on his feelings and doubts.

Ermelinda smiled but offered him no answer. Oswald knew just how pitiful his own face looked in turn.

“I might not be able to protect you. That’s what frightens me...” he told her.

Not only did he not know where the threads might lead, he couldn’t definitively say he would not involve his wives and children. That was the one thing that scared him.

He must continue to extend his reach. He had to earn trust as a magical toolmaker to the royal family, deepen his ties with other noble families, and expand his business beyond the kingdom’s borders. As he thought of all he needed to do, he felt his wife’s warm fingers against his cool cheek.

“Mel...”

Her beautiful, bright green eyes looked at him without a hint of doubt.

“Oz, there is nothing to be uncertain about. We are one, and we have been for some time.”

Jonas felt intoxicated by the dense magical energy filling the flower. He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting.

“Have at you!”

“Come on!”

The ice and flame flowers collided with a bang! that made the air vibrate.

Despite his firm stance, the powerful impact threw Jonas backward. Ice showered down around him, and he was hit with a blast of hot, white smoke.

The horses in the stable began to whinny in shock and fear.

“Lord Guido! Lord Jonas!”

“Are you all right?!”

The mages had been toppled by the aftershock, but they hastily clambered to their feet and ran to them.

As one of them cast healing magic on Guido, he roared, “Whoever can use advanced healing magic, attend to Lord Guido! And someone bring Lord Jonas a high potion!”

“Yes, right away!”

Jonas and Guido had collapsed on the ground, neither able to move. Jonas’s clothing, which had been enchanted with reinforcement magic, was in tatters, and white smoke rose from all over his body. But neither he nor Guido had let go of their weapons. I suppose we’ll have to call this a draw.

“You have a...fine sword... It’s quite...powerful...”

“Your wand...is very durable... It’s more impressive...than I thought...”

Lying amid the clamoring mages, Jonas and Guido exchanged quiet words of praise, smiled, and closed their eyes.

The next day, in unusual fashion, Guido was absent from the mages’ meeting at the castle. The reason he’d provided was that he had come down with a sudden cold. The same illness befell his attendant, so for three days, the two of them holed up in the same room to be attentively nursed back to health.

Dinner at Monster Lovers

In the nobles’ quarter stood a four-story restaurant, though one would never know it was from the exterior due to its lack of a signboard. It was there that Dahlia and Volf arrived and exited their carriage. With its beautiful ivory-white brick, it looked like a very classy establishment.

“The third and fourth floor of this building belongs to Monster Lovers, a restaurant that serves monster cuisine.”

“A name that would make any monster cry...”

“Yeah, I had the same thought when I first came here...”

To love monsters—but only the edible parts. Though perhaps it wasn’t such an odd expression, considering the monster parts were being used as ingredients for meals. After all, Dahlia reflected as she followed Volf inside, people said they “loved” chicken or pork when talking about eating other types of meat.

An employee in a dark brown uniform greeted them at the entrance and guided them to a private room on the fourth floor. The decor was understated, with a brown color scheme, though its size felt vast to a commoner like Dahlia. She thought it would be hard to talk to one another across that large, round table, but then she saw that the tableware had been set at adjacent chairs facing the window. The gold-colored cutlery looked a bit dazzling, and she wondered at the five glasses laid out for each of them.

The server filled a glass for each of them with ice, over which he then poured a small amount of rose-colored drink. Then he informed them their food would be out shortly and left the room.

Now that they were alone in the room, Volf removed his fairy glasses.

“People mainly dine in private rooms here, since some of the dishes have strong smells. Though personally, I don’t think they’re as strong as the odors of grilling dried fish and meat.”

Is that an apt comparison? Dahlia mused. It occurred to her, too, that dried meat and fish seemed the staples of Volf’s diet. The same could be said for the rest of the Order, but she hadn’t really considered the full extent of that until now.

“Should we toast with this?” Dahlia asked, inspecting the two fingers’ amount of rose-colored liquid at the bottom of her glass.

Volf narrowed his golden eyes at his own drink. “Yeah, let’s. This stuff doesn’t taste very good, though. It’s an antidote.”

“An antidote...?”

“It’s offered in case you don’t have enough protection against poison. We should be fine with our equipment, but let’s drink it just in case.”

With mixed feelings, Dahlia toasted with Volf to health and good fortune. The rosy antidote was bittersweet and grainy, and it tasted a bit like cold medicine. As she cleansed her palate with the sweet white wine in her second glass, she heard a knock at the door.

“Pardon me.”

The male server from earlier came in pushing a large cart. When he lifted the silver dome cloche, Dahlia had to suppress an exclamation of awe. The hors d’oeuvres looked like a small field of flowers. On top of a white plate were cured meats and cheeses shaped into white, red, and yellow roses, and vegetables plated to look like leaves.

“This is cured meat made from baphomet, crimson cattle, and horned rabbit colored with saffron.”

Dahlia had braced herself, unsure what to expect from this monster cuisine, but everything on the plate looked appetizing. She and Volf both took bites of the food.

The baphomet meat was a little gamey but still nice. The crimson cattle meat was similar to cured beef, while the saffron in the horned rabbit hid any trace of pungency and brought out its exceptional flavor. The array of cheeses included both conventional cheeses and cheese made from the milk of red cattle, and each one had a rich flavor.

“More restaurants have been serving crimson cattle lately,” Volf observed.

“Yes, we have received more imports since autumn. Ehrlichia is apparently planning to expand their crimson cattle farms,” the server replied with a smile. He informed them that he was from Ehrlichia and that his relatives owned a farm there.

Incidentally, crimson cattle could use strengthening magic, so it was vital that they be enclosed in metal fences, and that their caretakers have defensive equipment. Monsters indeed they were.

“This is a soup made with dried forest serpent and dried mushroom. It is said to be very nutritious and helps to relieve fatigue and give you more energy,” the server explained as he placed the steaming bowls on the table.

The soup contained forest serpent—also called the Green King—and very aromatic wild mushrooms. Among the meaty scent of the mushrooms rose another close to that of white fish. As the server had said, the soup indeed seemed very effective for relieving fatigue.

Green King Soup—Dahlia dashed away the image of a slithering green snake in her mind and dipped her spoon into the soup.

The clear, light brown broth could have been compared to that of either chicken or fish, and paired with the fragrant mushrooms, it delivered a deep flavor that was absolutely delectable. She attributed the lack of any fishiness or bitter aftertaste to excellent preparation of the ingredients.

Volf ate about half the soup before he put down his spoon. He had once mentioned that the forest serpent didn’t agree with him, so maybe he was limiting how much of it he consumed. It was possible that eating too much would give him an allergic reaction, like making him itchy. To Dahlia, the soup warmed her up and had a comforting flavor, but she made a mental note that it was probably best she didn’t serve him forest serpent dishes if he had a bad reaction to them.

After the soup, they had a small break before the server wheeled in another wagon. He lifted the dome-shaped cloche, and sitting on the plate was something that made Dahlia want to recoil in fear.

“Broiled black scorpion,” the server informed them.

“Black scorpion... Um, don’t they say that one of those can take down a thousand men?” Dahlia asked hesitantly.

“Yes, it is known as the Killer of a Thousand Men.”

The server’s smiling response did nothing to reassure Dahlia. She subconsciously checked to make sure she was still wearing her ring and bracelet. Her ring, given to her by Volf, had antidotal properties, while her bracelet was a work of Oswald’s. She could count on both accessories’ abilities to protect her from poison, so she should be fine.

But as it transpired, the medium-sized scorpion was only present as decoration. The inside was hollow, and what they would be eating was the white flesh in the middle of the plate, which had been formed into a round ball.

As she stared at it in fascination, she heard Volf mutter, “I guess scorpions don’t have that many edible parts.”

Is that really what you’re worried about right now? Dahlia thought to herself, but Volf’s willingness to dig in without hesitation gave her the courage to stick her fork in the lump of meat. She picked up a small amount of the meat on her fork and brought it to her mouth—and was surprised by how good it tasted.

It reminded her of shrimp but without the sweetness. It had a fresh, sophisticated seafood flavor. It would pair perfectly with plenty of black pepper and a dark ale. Now she understood why Volf liked it.

“Here is the kraken mousse.”

The next plate held crusty baked buns and a side of reddish-brown mousse.

“Dahlia, this is the mousse I told you about...”

“Right, I remember.”

Volf had once expressed to Dahlia his mixed feelings about this dish. Inside the light and fluffy reddish-brown mousse were thin slices of kraken. Although Volf said it wasn’t his favorite, he didn’t neglect to eat this dish too. Dahlia pumped herself up to try a bite.

“Oh...?”

The first thing she sensed was the smell of the sea. Some might have called it fishy, but while it was a bit peculiar, Dahlia didn’t entirely dislike it. As she chewed, it finally hit her—the flavor was close to shiokara, a dish of fermented seafood viscera from her previous world.

More salt might make the mousse more palatable. And sweet white wine wasn’t the best thing to drink with it. Rather, it would go better with a crisp, dry white wine with a strong alcoholic flavor.

“Volf, I have an idea. Add a little salt to the mousse, and we should order a full-bodied, dry wine to go with it. I think you’ll like it that way.”

She thought she had spoken quietly, but the server, who was a short distance away from their table, soon brought them the wine she’d requested. She felt a little bad. The wine he’d brought them was a moderately priced white that she and Volf occasionally drank together. It was a young, dry wine with a robust alcoholic flavor.

Dahlia topped a baked bun with kraken mousse, added a bit of salt, and ate it. She washed it down with wine, but the fishy smell remained.

“It’s the same, but it tastes better...”

Volf gave her a curious look. “Have you eaten kraken mousse before?”

“No... But it reminds me of squid or octopus.”

She couldn’t very well bring up shiokara. Plus, there were a surprisingly large number of people in Ordine who disliked squid and octopus for being too fishy. Chefs here made squid and octopus dishes more palatable by adding salt and spices.

Then Volf hit on a great idea. “I bet this would go well with estervino.”

The server repeated the word “estervino” to himself, and the two of them finished off the kraken mousse.

The next cart was wheeled in by a middle-aged man. He had tanned golden skin, dark orange hair, and rich, dark brown eyes. He wore a white chef’s coat and had his long hair tied back.

“Lord Scalfarotto, lovely miss, thank you for coming to our restaurant,” he said.

Dahlia detected the hint of an Ehrlichian accent in the man’s intonation. He introduced himself as the manager of Monster Lovers and announced the next dish as greencrown, which he had personally cooked. On top of the white plate with gold accents was sautéed greencrown, with white steam billowing up from it.

Greencrown was a bright green bird with long feathers on its head that resembled a tall hat. When Dahlia had seen a picture of it in a monster encyclopedia, she’d thought it looked just like a green turaco that she had seen in a zoo in her previous life.

However, as a monster, the greencrown had some frightening aspects. When fleeing from or fighting an enemy, it could use magic to give itself a boost in speed and fly like a green arrow. It was said that they flew fast enough to pierce a tree.

“This is the bird that stabbed Dorino in the arm...” Volf whispered.

“Do you have to mention something scary like that...?” Dahlia whispered back in alarm.

She had heard about how Dorino, one of Volf’s fellow knights in the Order of Beast Hunters, had been speared by a greencrown, but she wished Volf hadn’t reminded her of that now.

She somehow managed to compose her face and cut into the meal with her knife. She took a bite and chewed. The texture reminded her of sautéed chicken—not overly juicy or fatty. It felt like she was eating prime chicken meat.

But after she swallowed, she realized with a start that it had a different aftertaste. It had a nutty flavor, like almonds. The delayed aromatic sweetness filled her nose. She cocked her head, caught off guard by the pleasant aftertaste.

When she looked next to her, Volf was sitting with his finger to his chin. “It tastes good after I swallow... Is the flavor improving? No, that can’t be it...”

“It’s very good, but I’m having trouble putting it into words...”

As the two of them praised the flavor of the dish despite being unable to explain why, the manager gave them a smile of satisfaction.

“It’s a wonderful dish,” Dahlia told him.

“Thank you. You cannot tell whether a monster will taste good or not based on its appearance alone. Their flavor changes depending on their habitat and their size. That is what makes cooking with them so interesting.”

“I see...”

The manager explained how cooking with monsters was a difficult process that involved a lot of experimentation, but part of the fun was discovering new and surprising flavors. Dahlia could deeply relate.

“There are still many monsters I want to try cooking with,” the manager said with excitement.

“Are you interested in any particular monster right now?” Volf asked, matching his energy.

“Yes, what I would like to cook most of all is a wyvern.”

“Really...?”

That’s a big one to choose. Although, Ehrlichia did raise wyverns, so perhaps it wasn’t such an unattainable dream.

“Someday, I would like to roast a whole wyvern!”

“A whole wyvern?” Dahlia said in disbelief.

“The meat can be cooked well if you skin a wyvern and remove its internal organs. I think it can be done. One of these days, I will obtain a large oven and employ mages of Ordine to roast a wyvern to perfection.”

The manager’s dark brown eyes shone as he spoke of roasting a wyvern.

“To roast a whole wyvern, you might need the second and third floors of the building too...” Volf said, his eyes distant.

It was true that a wood-fire or magic crystal oven would hardly be enough. The manager would need the help of mages. Dahlia thought of the mages in the Order of Beast Hunters who had cooked an armored crab in a large pot that time she accompanied them on an expedition. They would surely be able to roast the wyvern well. No sooner had she finished that thought than the manager left to bring out the next dish.

After they enjoyed the sautéed greencrown, Dahlia noticed Volf staring at his empty plate. He had declined an extra portion of meat, but perhaps he hadn’t had enough to eat.

“Is something wrong, Volf?”

“No, I was just thinking about when I was carried away by that wyvern. I was lucky it didn’t tear me apart.”

Again, please stop bringing up such scary things. Dahlia felt convinced that Volf’s nightmares did indeed involve terrifying ordeals such as fighting monsters. Feeling ill at ease, she took a sip of wine.

“It must be scary to remember that...”

“Not really—it’s a happy memory. It was thanks to that happening that you found me.”

“Hrk!”

Dahlia nearly choked on her wine. What are you, an abandoned puppy that I’m fostering in the Green Tower? she wanted to retort, but when she saw the smile on his face as he picked up his wine glass, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

“Thank you for waiting.”

If she’d ever doubted it before, the next plate the manager set in front of Dahlia would have been the one to convince her that this was indeed a monster restaurant.

On the plate was a winding vine, somewhere between black and dark gray in color. It had the appearance of seaweed. Placed in a decorative arrangement around the vine were berries that were black as pitch on the outside and red as blood on the inside.

On top of the red and black were what Dahlia assumed were yellow and green vegetables to serve as pops of color—though they didn’t quite land as such. The entire plate was a burst of saturated colors.

“Devil nettle and blood orange salad,” the manager announced.

“Devil nettle...” Dahlia said, furrowing her brow slightly.

Devil nettle was a monster that looked like a vine. It ensnared prey that got close to it and sucked its blood until it died. It was a frightening monster that made travelers and horses who had lost their way its victims.

There were now signs and fences up to keep that from happening, but some still fell victim to the monsters’ attacks. They lived in areas scattered across the kingdom, including in the grassy fields along the highways.

The reason they hadn’t been wiped out was that they were used to make an extremely effective drug for a winter epidemic that broke out once every few years. The devil nettles lost their potency four days after collection, so their colonies were protected areas.

However, this was the first time Dahlia had ever seen one served as food. Honestly, it did not look appetizing. Also, there was another thing that concerned her: What had this particular devil nettle fed on?

“This devil nettle was raised in Ehrlichia. Their breeding grounds are surrounded by hot springs to keep them from multiplying too much, and they are fed on fish and liquid nutritional supplements,” the manager explained, putting Dahlia’s fears to rest. She was also surprised to hear that Ehrlichia was using such cultivation methods.

Then, finally, she turned her eyes to the plate. The devil nettle was cut up to be easy to eat and already had dressing on it. She picked up a small amount of it with her fork, took a bite, and gave it a few tentative chews. It was a bit tough, and the texture reminded her of kombu. The dressing, which seemed to contain Esterland seasonings, complemented it well.

“It’s like hijiki...” Dahlia began, surprised by the familiar flavor. Her hand flew to her mouth to stop herself.

The devil nettle was thicker and larger than hijiki seaweed, but it had a similar taste. She had been about to comment on the monster’s similarity to the plantlike texture of that seaweed.

Dahlia continued eating, savoring the nostalgic flavor.

“This has a nice texture. It goes well with the fiendfish,” Volf commented.

Like he said, the yellow and green garnishes were not vegetables, but thin slices of deep-fried fiendfish. The scales had been removed to make use of the color of the fish’s skin. The light flavor of the white-fleshed fish did indeed go well with the hijiki—that is, the devil nettle.

The encircling blood oranges were also good. The fruit, black on the outside and bright red on the inside, was a local specialty from an island in Ordine’s waters. With their tangy yet sweet flavor, they added a nice accent to the salad.

“They are a favorite snack of some small monsters. Some retired adventurers go to live on the island to protect blood oranges,” the manager explained.

Delicious foods weren’t safe from monsters or humans, it seemed. Dahlia finished off her devil nettle and blood orange salad as she listened to the manager speak about how the monsters that ate blood oranges could also be used as ingredients.

Her glass was refilled with a sharp red wine that the manager had recommended. As she basked in the enjoyment of the meal thus far, the last cart was wheeled in.

“For dessert, we have a sponge cake made with crimson cattle butter and cockatrice eggs accompanied with a side of crimson cattle ice cream. You may top your ice cream with your choice of either honey or brandy.”

On top of the plate, which was painted with large red flowers, was a triangular sponge cake on the left and a scoop of ice cream on the right. They looked delicious.

Dahlia decided to start with the sponge cake. It was a simple bright yellow sponge cake without any jam or cream. She wondered as she took another bite if the purpose of that omission was to balance the ice cream. After the initial bold sweetness, she simultaneously sensed the rich flavor of egg and pleasant aroma of butter.

It was a very dense cake, unlike the more elegant, high-class desserts she knew. She understood now why it didn’t come with jam or cream.

“This ice cream is creamy and delicious. I like that it’s not too sweet,” Volf said. He was thoroughly enjoying his ice cream topped with plenty of brandy.

Since the ice cream wasn’t very sweet, Dahlia had coated hers in honey. She decided not to think about all the calories she had consumed today.

“They were both delicious,” Dahlia said after she had polished off the cake and ice cream.

The manager’s eyes softened as he smiled. “I am very pleased to hear that! This last dish is on the house. I hope you enjoy.”

There was one more cloche on the wagon. The manager lifted it up to reveal a red and translucent substance wobbling on a stark white plate.

“Is that...red slime?” Dahlia asked.

“So you know it! This gelatin dessert is called red slime lips.”

The manager’s smile grew wider, and Dahlia didn’t have the heart to correct him. She had genuinely thought it was a miniature red slime monster.

“I named it so since its bounciness is similar to the bounce of youthful lips.”

Dahlia suddenly felt conscious of her own lips, but she wasn’t sure she quite got what he meant. In any case, hearing the phrase “red slime lips” made Dahlia wonder where exactly a slime’s mouth was. Didn’t they expel acid from all over? While she was contemplating that unanswerable question, Volf was regarding the plate in front of him with a strange look.

“Youthful lips...”

Perhaps he, like herself, didn’t quite get it either.

As for Dahlia, her eyes were more drawn to the red of the slime than its bounciness.

“The slimes are raised in a sanitary environment, then, after they are entirely detoxified, only their safe gelatinous parts are mixed with gelatin. They are fed fresh apples, baked wheat, and butter. Doing so makes their red color fade, so a red colorant is added,” the manager explained.

Dahlia couldn’t believe this was jelly mixed with slime. It had exactly the translucency and color of a slime. Though perhaps that wasn’t surprising after all, given that slime was one of its ingredients.

“Well, here I go...”

Dahlia tried cutting into it with her spoon but was met with a surprising amount of resistance. She used her spoon to scrape off a small piece, then hesitantly took a bite. It was a little firmer in texture than gelatin.

But as she chewed, the jelly melted delightfully in her mouth. There was a hint of apple and something like a baked pastry. She couldn’t figure out quite what to compare the curious flavor to.

Bonus Translation Notes

Hello and welcome to another round of premium bonus content for Volume 10 of Dahlia in Bloom!

Dare I say that we finally got some romantic development in this volume? For me, Volf and Dahlia’s dance was the highlight of the book, and I hope it was as much of a joy to read as it was to translate. I think it’s important to remember that despite this being volume 10, not that much time has passed in the story, so the slow development feels realistic and makes sense in-universe.

I want to use this bonus content to give some cultural notes that might shed some light on a few moments in the text. Dahlia often makes references to her previous life in Japan, which are filled with meaning for Japanese readers but may need more context for English readers.

Clip-On Earrings

In the very beginning of the volume, Volf goes to buy Dahlia a pair of gold earrings. Some of you may be wondering why the earrings are specifically clip-ons. We learn later when Volf shares the story about his mother that neither she nor Dahlia has pierced ears. In fact, having pierced ears actually isn’t as common in Japan as it is in the West, so many people wear clip-on earrings. There are actually two different words used in Japanese to differentiate the two. There’s イヤリング (iyaringu) for unpierced ears and ピアス (piasu) for pierced ears. (They’re taken, as you can probably guess, from the words “earring” and “pierce”).

Japanese New Year

“Nothing, really. I was thinking of doing some cleaning and cooking at home,” Dahlia answered, remembering how she had always passed the New Year in her previous life.

So, what are the New Year’s customs in Japan? In the U.S., we have “spring cleaning,” but this is actually done at the end of December in Japan, before the New Year, and is called osoji, lit. “big cleaning.” People take this time to clean and declutter their homes for the coming year. The food for the New Year’s feast is called osechi-ryori, and is made days in advance of New Year’s and eaten over several days. Although many families opt to purchase osechi-ryori instead of making it, Dahlia’s comment about cleaning and cooking for the holidays would likely call these traditions to mind.

A Very Auspicious Day

The calendars in this world, unlike those in Japan, didn’t designate very auspicious days, but the weather today was unusually good.

This particular line is referring to the Rokuyo, a series of six days that are supposed to predict good and bad luck. The day referenced in this line is the taian kichijitsu, or the luckiest day among those six. The other days are sensho (good luck in the morning, bad luck for the rest of the day), tomobiki (bad luck in the daytime, and if you do run into bad luck, your friends will be involved), senbu (bad luck in the morning, good luck in the afternoon), butsumetsu (the most unlucky day), and shakko (luck from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. but bad luck for the rest of the day).

The system has largely fallen out of use, but some are still mindful of days like taian and butsumetsu for planning important events like weddings and funerals. (Incidentally, taian kichijitsu is the best day for weddings.)

The mention of taian here could just be a remark about the weather, but maybe it could also be seen as good luck that Jonas and Guido didn’t accidentally kill each other in that chapter.

Shiokara

As she chewed, it finally hit her—the flavor was close to shiokara, a dish of fermented seafood viscera from her previous world.

In the chapter “Dinner at Monster Lovers,” Dahlia compares kraken mousse to a Japanese dish called shiokara. I added in the gloss to give a clear picture for English readers right away, but it is, as you read, essentially salted fish that’s fermented in its own guts. Nowadays, it’s most commonly made with squid (ika no shiokara), so it makes sense that the kraken mousse reminds Dahlia of it. It is, as you might guess, an acquired taste. It is often sold in bars along with a shot of whiskey or other strong alcohol.