Chapter 212
Chapter 212
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Letters to Windmage (2)
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“Enjoy your meal!”
Thud!
The innkeeper put the finishing touch on the lavish breakfast spread by setting down the “Dustwind Monitor Lizard Roast with Caramelized Apples” on the table piled high with dishes.
“Good lord. What’s all this?”
“What else? It’s the highly suspicious hospitality of a lonely old bachelor innkeeper pushing forty. You saw it coming, right?”
“Uh... me?”
The guy’s putting on airs.
After a chaotic morning, the innkeeper had looked ready to kick us out upon seeing the mess in my room and at the counter (Borca had torn the place apart looking for paper). But one offhand comment from Lucilla turned him around in an instant.
‘Oh dear. We barely made it here from Teldrat, and I was looking for a nice inn to rest up at for a while. There aren’t any other decent places around here—what should I do?’
I saw it clear as day. His eyes lit up at the word “Teldrat,” and he gave Lucilla a once-over from head to toe.
She was the only normal-looking one in our group—everyone else was either old geezers or hulks, except for the elf Idrasil—and objectively speaking, her delicate features made her quite the looker.
To top it off, she pulled out a pouch of silver coins stamped with the Aedran family crest and paid for the damaged items.
From the sidelines, I could practically see the thoughts bubbling up in old bachelor Hans’s head: ‘No way... Could this be that legendary Teldrat lady... right in front of me? All these years living alone were for today’s destiny...’
After that? Well, the smitten bachelor and the merchant vixen to her bones hit it off. Lucilla haggled down the compensation with every excuse in the book, and he babbled things like, “You’re so full of life! You’d make the perfect innkeeper’s wife... Uh, I mean...” And now here we were with a feast that could break the table.
Hm. Gotta admit, a guy who can cook is hot. Would’ve given him extra points if he weren’t a balding potbellied uncle.
The Professor shot a glance at Hans, who was glaring lasers from across the counter, then turned to Lucilla.
“But seriously, why are you throwing around that ‘Teldrat suitor’ rumor like candy? If it spreads more, won’t it get out of hand? If you were some drifter like us, fine, but you’re a merchant and a noble. You can’t ignore your reputation in high society or your family standing, right?”
“It’s not throwing it around—it’s strategically spreading the rumor. Too late to stop it anyway. This is a backwater village, so it hasn’t hit here yet, but in the imperial social circles, there are probably hundreds of copies of my portrait circulating by now. Our family’s heard by this point, too, and Dad wouldn’t miss a chance like this—he might even be fanning the flames. Might as well make the most of it. Before this journey ends, I should look for a decent guy. Wider the selection, the better. Who knows, my fated husband might be buried in the crowd at some New Year’s party. The more the rumor spreads, the better. That’s the plan.”
Oh ho. She’d actually put some serious thought into this?
“Getting married?”
“Engaged, maybe... Eek! You don’t ask a grown lady stuff like that!”
Slap!
“Heh heh heh. Hey, if you really hated it, I was gonna help you find a way out.”
“A way? How?”
“How else? Look at my status—it’s obvious. Just strip that ‘suitor’ label off you right now.”
“W-Wait a sec. Uh, um. So you’re saying... me and the Hero...”
Whoosh!
Her face turned beet red at whatever she imagined, and she scooted her chair back as she stammered.
“N-No, I mean... Shedding the suitor status means no need to marry... something like that? H-Hero? I do think highly of you, and you’re great in every way, but... w-we’ve only known each other a short time, and deciding on engagement with someone this insane isn’t... It doesn’t feel stable forever, you know? Of course you’re a great person, Professor, but... talking about something that important over fish soup just feels...”
“Hm? What’re you on about? I meant you could become a priestess of the Radiant Church.”
“A p-priestess?”
The Professor struggled to hold back his laughter as he replied to Lucilla’s stunned, flushed face.
“Yeah! I’m an officially recognized saint of the church now. Got the holy relics, the holy oil, the clergy. I could even do a quick ceremony right here. Sure, church priestesses can find a spouse with the proper rites and approval, but if a priestess vows to uphold her purity, that’s a religious matter, right? That’s what I meant...”
“Huh? Uh?”
“Pfft, heh! Professor, you... underestimated a spinster’s imagination there, eh? Heh, ahem! Hm! Yeah, fair enough. Too bad. Looks like you flunked, Professor. Crazy bastard.”
“Hohoho, cough, heh heh heh! What’re you saying, Ottoman! After all we’ve seen of this guy. That’s a high score! If I had a daughter and this punk showed up holding her hand one day, I’d curse him to wander the nine hells forever just for saying her name! Good job, Lucilla! He’s no good! Daddy won’t allow it!”
“A-Ahhh... Aaaaaah!!!! D-Don’t tease me!!!!”
Lucilla covered her face and yelled at the group. Notum, who’d been quietly listening, stood and wrapped a big hand around her shoulder.
“Notum...”
“Little human female seeks mate. Heat is nothing to be ashamed of. Warm nest. Plenty of food. Much to prepare. Notum female. Females help each other. Gruk.”
Pat pat.
“B-Ba-ba... H-heat... Waaah! Why you toooooo!!!!!”
Heh heh heh heh. Man, she’s adorable. Why are all the little ones at my place so fun to tease? Cynthia’s the same, and this one too.
As the Professor reminisced fondly about Cynthia probably learning math, history, or basic firearm disassembly back at Dome’s school right now...
“Khuhk, heh, heh! Hah hnk! Pfft!”
A bizarre laugh erupted from the corner of the table—one I’d never heard before. Thinking it was the innkeeper, the Professor turned, only to look flustered.
“Cough!”
It wasn’t the innkeeper. It was Borca, spilling soup as he laughed.
“Ahh, suck! S-Sorry. Wasn’t mocking you, heh! Just... too amusing.”
“...Did you hear that, Aldrich? He says it wasn’t mockery. Not a coughing fit or some werewolf respiratory issue—he means he was laughing.”
“You heard it too? Amazing. I’ve traveled with that guy and never seen that sourpuss face crack, let alone laugh. Thought werewolves just didn’t have the facial structure for expressions.”
“Same here. Only saw him grimace once, when we first met and I beat the tar out of him. Even with a knife in his gut, he just twitched an eyebrow.”
“Khuh huh huh! Foolish talk. I’m human too. If something’s funny, I can laugh, can’t I?”
As we all marveled at the revelation that “werewolves can laugh,” Borca wiped his soup-smeared mouth on his arm and suddenly slammed his head on the table.
Thud!
“W-What?”
“Nothing. Just felt I hadn’t thanked you properly. Thank you, Boss. Thank you, my comrades. I want to thank everyone who brought us here. Hearing that my children, whom I thought dead, are alive and well... It’s a lifelong debt of gratitude.”
A laugh full of mirth, yet utterly sincere.
The werewolf, who hadn’t smiled once in months, grinned like a fool, his heart lightened, pouring out his thanks.
“...Borca, you don’t have to say it like that. We all know.”
“No. Knowing and saying it aloud are different. So Lucilla, if there’s a man you like, don’t hide it—speak up. To repay my debt, I’ll drag him to you, even if I have to break his legs.”
“Gyaah! Borca, you toooooo!!!!”
A late breakfast feast, comrades full of laughter.
Even the werewolf, cheerful since morning.
Everything had been good since arriving here, putting me in high spirits.
Of course, they say fortune brings demons, so trouble could pop up anytime.
But watching our grumpy, silent furball uncle grinning like an idiot...
That alone made the trip worthwhile.
****
“Alright, take care while we’re gone!”
“Keep the warehouse from getting damp, please!”
“Be careful out there! And absolutely—do NOT piss off the working mage—!”
Stomachs full, camaraderie topped off.
We left the innkeeper waving us off like we were lovers heading to war, making for that Storm Hill.
No reason to dawdle, plus my offhand remark about “finding the letter Borca sent from Felix Home and checking where it flew...” had sent his motivation into overdrive.
Even now, at the front of the group, he held aloft the imperial map (Lucilla’s haggling discount: 1500 sil), sniffing the wind and muttering directions and place names. I couldn’t stop chuckling.
Surprisingly close from the village, and no mad bandits would camp near a mage’s lair.
Nothing but wasteland-like rocks and sandy bedrock around, so the climb up the hill was just quiet wind and rustling letters.
So peaceful. Yeah, just like...
“Calm before the storm.”
“Eek! I was holding back from saying it!”
Idrasil’s flag-planting words deflated me instantly.
Spot on. Not just peaceful—post-apocalyptic empty. Even a rocky monster-free zone should have rock centipedes, cave rabbits, or dustwind monitor lizards like breakfast.
But nothing. Just wind and whatever it carried.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Whiiiish—
Footsteps on gravel mixed with rising wind. It grew louder toward the hilltop, until it buffeted our steps.
“This... isn’t normal! Wind gathering like this outside a valley?!”
“Waaah! My hat! Someone, anyone... grab it!”
Roooaaar—!
Flutter flutter! Flaflutter!
Letters from across the empire swirled above us into a massive pillar, while Notum gripped Lucilla, nearly blown away, as we struggled up.
Fwoosh!
The suffocating air suddenly cleared—whoosh—and the uphill view vanished, revealing a bright vista. Pushed by the wind, we reached the summit to a sight beyond even our braced expectations.
“Woooow, so beautiful...”
“This... it’s nothing short of grand sorcery. The majesty of an 8th-circle mage’s last spell.”
The Professor nodded frantically in agreement with Ottoman’s awe.
It was... straight out of a fairy tale.
Felix Home was a pristine white hemispherical building. Overlapping curved pillars formed a structure beautiful as art itself, with blue mana-laden winds weaving endlessly through its gaps, whistling thin, whiii~ tunes.
Riding that wind-building symphony, letters gathered in a ring atop the white dome, spiraling slowly into its peak.
Even I, who’d seen modern skyscrapers and absurdities like Meyer Zeus, stood rooted by the overwhelming scale.
“That’s... the sole sanctuary of the wind mages.”
Felix Home. The lifelong wish of a grand mage on magic’s edge, built from his remains—a place where winds lingered.
Awestruck by the spectacle, we could only stare mutely until the singing building finished its song.
****