Elven Liquor (3)
"Hah..."
Sweat beaded thickly across the witch's brow. The long, punishing chant—so lengthy Lily had struggled simply to memorize it—had at last drawn to a close.
Near the end of the incantation the liquid in the pot had shifted through a riot of colors; now it stood perfectly clear and pure. What had once been a generous volume had dwindled to less than a tenth of its original amount. The moisture had boiled away, leaving only a thoroughly condensed essence.
Is it finished? Then that unicorn horn... was it just a ladle this whole time?
The unicorn horn still held its original golden radiance and every scrap of the dense mana packed inside it; nothing had been lost. Roy waited in silence until the witch spoke, unwilling to risk any flaw in the liquor he was about to drink. He had already released his Golden Eyes—maintaining them through the entire recitation had drained his internal mana in moments.
"The hard part's over now."
"So I just drink it as is?"
"No. Cool it first, then pour it into a pouch made from an ogre's heart."
"An ogre's heart?"
He had thought that was nothing more than a trophy to prove one's skill—something useless. Apparently not. Seeing his reaction, the witch wiped her forehead and spoke.
"What? Worried because it's a monster?"
"Is there a reason?"
"There is. The liquor still hasn't fermented. Put it in an ogre's heart, though, and it ferments almost at once. You could bury it in an ordinary jar underground or store it in an oak cask in a cellar, but that takes at least six months to a year."
"..."
"In a pouch of ogre's heart it only needs five days."
"...Almost as if something clinging to the dried ogre heart is what finishes the liquor."
"Creeped out? Don't be. Once fermentation's done, this is the important part."
She gave the unicorn horn in her hand a little shake.
"Soak this in the liquor and every foul, unclean thing you're fretting about will be purified within a day. No need to worry. The reason I stirred the pot with it earlier was to drive out the impurities."
"Oh-ho!"
Roy immediately decided he needed to obtain another unicorn horn. When he refined mana solutions back at the manor, the mana spent purifying impurities was both the largest and the most regrettable expense. With one of these he would have a tool of lasting value.
"Does it absolutely have to ferment, though?"
"Of course. Right now it isn't liquor yet."
"I mean, does it have to be liquor at all? I'm still young—do I really need to..."
"Well... I've never once considered that. The spell was meant from the start to brew Elven Liquor."
"...I'll drink it as liquor. If I take it now and it turns out to have no effect, everything's wasted."
"Right? Maybe that's why the ancestors never dared taste it before it was finished. If you just swallowed it raw and it did nothing, you'd have thrown away time and materials for nothing."
"That makes sense."
Roy quietly resolved that if mass production ever became possible, he would test the unfermented version himself.
"So that means I have to stay here at least six more days."
"What? Don't like the idea?"
"No—I love it. Even after the liquor's ready, I'd want to stay a few days longer."
He did not regard the prospect of six more days as any great hardship. After years confined to the manor since his reincarnation, a wait of this length was nothing. Besides, there were still experiments he wanted to try in this place—assuming, of course, that drinking the finished Elven Liquor truly increased his mana capacity.
Six days passed.
In that time Roy exchanged countless conversations with the witch. He stuck so close to her that Lily and the Baron grew openly jealous.
"Father, you should deepen your bond with the daughter you've kept hidden. I'll keep the conversation going with my third mother."
"You little brat! If you ever say that sort of thing to Ana back at the manor..."
"Why would I? And hurt our poor mother's heart?"
"..."
"So may I make a proposal?"
"What now?"
"Father, you return to the manor first. Let me stay here a few more days on my own—would that be all right?"
"...Why?"
"There's still something I have to do. In this forest."
"That face of yours looks like you're plotting something shady again."
"Come on, me? In a few months I'll be free anyway."
"The Knight Academy won't be as easy as you think. Counts' and marquises' houses, even royal blood—they'll all be swarming there. Even if you walk around with a thousand gold coins in your pocket, those people won't bat an eye."
"I've heard that lecture so many times my ears have calluses. Just give me three days. Please."
"Give me a reason."
"...All right. I intend to summon a spirit."
"A spirit?"
"Yes. Once I've drunk the Elven Liquor and my mana has grown, there's a spirit I want to contract with."
"Does it have to be done here?"
"Yes. You've seen the dog Lily rides, haven't you? There's a creature that can only be summoned in this forest."
"But spirit contracts are something you learn during the three-year course at the Knight Academy..."
"Father, you already know I'm not ordinary. If you were going to act like this, you never should have brought me here promising Dragon's Breath in the first place."
"Haa... you really are always..."
"Fine. A deal, then. The day I leave for the Knight Academy, I'll give you one-tenth of all the gold I hold—free of charge."
"...!?"
"That should more than cover any losses the territory might suffer from me lingering three extra days."
"You cunning little... are you trying to buy your own father with money!?"
"No. It's a transaction. I'm purchasing a little of your time with a rather generous sum of gold!"
"Hmm..."
In the end the Baron accepted Roy's offer. Though he had told no one, he was currently planning something within the territory that required enormous capital.
"Thank you."
Roy smiled brightly, thoroughly satisfied with the bargain they had struck.
Knock, knock.
A rap sounded at the door. It was none other than Lily.
"Roy! The witch says hurry up. The liquor's ready."
The moment had come to taste the hard-won brew.
"Shall we go have a drink!?"
"Fine words in front of your father."
"..."
Father and son sniped at each other all the way to the place where the witch Ilia waited.
Under the watchful eyes of the elf witch Ilia, her daughter Lily, and his father the Baron, Roy accepted the finished Elven Liquor.
"Is this all of it?"
"What, did you think the amount would grow during fermentation?"
"Not that—but seeing it in the glass, it's an awfully small amount."
"Of course. We condensed the mana of the ingredients and imbued the liquor with a special effect. If it could be mass-produced all at once, everyone would be sharing it and its value would plummet. Don't you think?"
"True enough."
So mass production is difficult? The ingredient supply is certainly hard enough...
The glass he held was only about half full of Elven Liquor—roughly the same amount he had drunk in the manor basement during the raid years ago. This, it seemed, was the maximum the witch could produce in a single batch.
"May I drink the whole thing? Or is one sip enough?"
"Drink it all. A single sip would give some effect, but for the full potency you should finish every drop. Drinking more than this, though, won't grant any greater benefit."
"...!"
Ilia's final remark sent a sharp pang through his chest. Roy already remembered drinking this once before. After all the labor they had poured into it, if the liquor produced no effect at all, the disappointment would be crushing.
Still, I've learned the method, and the spirit of the Golden Eyes said there seems to be another Dragon's Breath out there.
If it failed, he would be deeply disappointed—but not driven to despair. He drew a steadying breath and tried to quiet the tangle of emotions inside him.
Then the witch's sweet voice brushed his ear like a caress. Was there another voice in the world so lovely? Roy decided on the spot that he would grant any request Ilia made. It was not that he had suddenly fallen under a charm; her words alone had simply stirred him a little.
"Wait—before you drink! Oh, I completely forgot."
"What is it?"
The Baron asked at the witch's abrupt words. Roy watched her lips anxiously, wondering whether something was wrong with the liquor or whether she had left out an ingredient.
Her lips moved again at once.
"I forgot Cliv brought the child so early. Elven Liquor is supposed to be drunk only after a person has pushed their internal mana to its absolute limit. If a young child drinks it, the effect is halved. That may be why it was made as liquor rather than an ordinary drink—an adult old enough to drink would almost always have mature mana as well. Do you understand what I mean?"
"Mm, yes. When my father and I first came here I was nearly twenty."
What was this? Then Roy, who had drunk Dragon's Breath at the mere age of five, had suffered a severe loss. At that time his mana had been immature—less than half of his innate potential. Yet the reverse was also true: he had never yet tasted the true efficacy of Dragon's Breath. Which meant that drinking it now would finally let him experience the proper effect.
His heart began to pound, hammering wildly against his ribs. Roy forced the excitement down and spoke.
"But my mana stopped growing months ago."
"How old did you say you were?"
"Eleven."
Ilia had already learned Roy's age from the Baron days earlier. Even so, the fact that his mana growth had ended at eleven startled her anew. The world was wide and such children certainly existed, yet when she added up every other talent the boy before her possessed, he only grew more extraordinary the longer she looked.
"You're certain?"
"Yes. I've tried every method I know, and it hasn't increased by so much as a drop. I've hit my limit."
"Very well. If you say so, I won't argue. I've already taught you that drinking before growth ends is a loss."
"Then it seems every preparation is complete."
The Baron rose suddenly from his seat.
"Roy, do as I do."
"Pardon?"
"I already told you. Our house has stood in contract with the witch for generations."
"Ah..."
"Hurry and follow."
Roy sank to one knee before the witch just as the Baron had.
"We of House Greenhilt, masters of this land, stand here in accordance with the ancient pact sealed with the witch. I swear upon the name of our house and upon my own name, Cliv, that she shall dwell freely in this forest for all eternity."
Roy's hands and feet squirmed with secondhand embarrassment, yet he had no choice but to endure until the liquor on the table had slid down his throat. He was prepared to dance naked if required; a little ceremony was nothing.
"I, Roy Greenhilt, swear upon my name."
He lightly pressed his lips to the witch's slender hand. Lily, watching the entire exchange from close range, blinked her large eyes with a face flushed bright red.