Veteran Adventurers' Early Vacation (2)
Territory.
Every living creature possessed of a certain higher intelligence constructs a radius of activity for itself. Humans form tribes, raise villages, build cities, and ultimately found nations—and animals are no different. Even herbivores that appear to drift aimlessly from pasture to watering hole possess, strictly speaking, a territory of their own, and the carnivores that feed upon them are no exception.
Yet among some of the higher animals there exists a slightly different arrangement: activity ranges that shift according to sex. Take elephants, for instance. At a glance they seem to form herds, but that is true only of the females and their young. Bull elephants do not join the herd; they live alone. They are welcomed into the group for one reason alone—when the breeding season arrives. At every other time the matriarch drives them out.
The same pattern, though not identical, appears among humans of a different species. It is not merely luxury goods like watches. Men, in the extreme, get their hearts pounding over massive weapons and warships where steel clashes against steel—two-legged walking machines and combining robots that are thoroughly impractical in reality. Women are much the same: high-end perfumes and cosmetics for adornment; glittering jewelry and costly branded luxuries produced every year; food so shockingly spicy it makes the tongue burn, or so greasy it leaves oil dripping; brunch eaten in the late morning or early afternoon; and desserts sweet enough to ache the teeth.
Of course, when eras change, culture changes with them. On modern Earth the boundaries of taste between men and women were crumbling, but that day remained distant for Europa. Even Iceland, which claimed to prioritize ability over gender and bloodline, could not escape it. And so, quite naturally, a dessert specialty café was a woman’s domain.
At least, that was what Aindelph knew.
And yet—what was this?
"…Hey. Pointy-ears."
"What is it, dwarf?"
"This place called a café…"
Aindelph looked around with a thoroughly uncomfortable, burdened expression. Cheerful pastel interiors in yellow, white, and pink. Interiors decorated with living flowers, magical tools, and ornaments. Soft, sweet scents that declared even the air itself was meant for women. Aindelph whispered under his breath.
"…Do men usually come here a lot?"
"Why would the hairy louts who just guzzle booze in taverns ever climb into a place like this?"
"Right. I really hate agreeing with you, but then what is all this?"
Boys and girls of an age that could still chew through iron chains. Women tapping their feet in excitement as they eyed the menus they had ordered. A dwarf shoveling cake into his mouth with bare hands. Young lovers gazing at each other with honey-dripping eyes. An old man hiding slabs of muscle beneath a splendid tailcoat. And countless other men who did not belong in a café at all, sitting either together or alone among those who did. The ratio was roughly six to four.
Clink tapped the table lightly and kept jerking his chin. At the end of that gesture sat people who clashed completely with the café.
"A few of them are dressed rather finely, but they can’t fool my eyes. Some are adventurers, those over there are ordinary folk, and well now—looks like we even have a knight-sir among us?"
"Hm? A knight? Why on earth would a knight come to a place like this?"
"How should I know?"
Clink shrugged. Jurin, however, turned his head toward the companion who somehow seemed to know the answer. Erica, catching the look, shrugged in turn and gave a small wave to a waiting waiter.
"Well, we can just ask directly. You there, waiter?"
"Ah, have you finished deciding on your orders?"
"No, we finished ordering a little while ago."
"Then might there be something you are curious about regarding our establishment?"
"The atmosphere of the café feels different from the last time I visited. Did something happen?"
"Ah, that is because of a trend."
A flash of awkwardness crossed the waiter’s face, as if he had his own share of troubles.
"Gentlemen who have taken an interest in a new spice called vanilla have begun to visit."
"Vanilla? Never heard of it."
"The trend has only just begun, so if you happened to be in another region before now, it is quite possible you would not know."
Erica could more or less understand. If they had simply missed the start of the fad, that roughly made sense. It had not been long since they returned from finishing a subjugation request.
"But even so, I can’t understand why these male mayflies would crawl into a space like this."
That still could not explain the thoroughly unbalanced scene inside the café right now. Even at Erica’s sudden, blunt remark, the waiter kept his composure and smiled. Still, he looked a little troubled.
"Ahem. That is a bit difficult to say in the presence of lady customers—"
"Never mind these mayflies. Just finish what you were saying."
"If you insist… ahem. Vanilla is said to be effective for… nighttime activities—"
The waiter quietly spat out something outrageous. Nighttime activities. An utterly blunt way of putting it.
"What!? Wait—nighttime activities?"
Jurin raised his voice without thinking, then immediately lowered it under the pastel-drenched atmosphere around them. He was not the only one. The other men in the party, Aindelph and Clink, also fixed their burning interest on the waiter.
"Not long ago, vanilla was first unveiled at a banquet in Winterhome. And the guests who tasted it praised it highly as extremely effective… or so the rumors go."
Rumors of that sort always spread faster than the wind. Of course there had not yet been enough time for them to leave Coldon, but inside the city it was more than enough for no one to remain ignorant. And when it came to virility? Shame was no obstacle.
"According to other rumors, the most effective way to consume vanilla is together with sugar and butter."
"All this spectacle over a single rumor like that?"
"It is not my place to say, but gentlemen take a very deep interest in such rumors, so I imagine that is the reason. It is a little apologetic toward our regular lady customers, but we are glad that more guests have come to enjoy us."
"I see. I’ve asked everything I wanted."
"Then I shall take my leave."
Erica could not help being surprised by the unexpected answer. No wonder the sweet scent inside the café had felt different from last time.
That heavy-yet-lighter-than-caramel sweetness must be the smell of this so-called fashionable vanilla, she thought.
"But what on earth are you lot doing right now?"
"Simply observing the formalities befitting the place," Jurin said in a deep, solemn voice, sitting ramrod straight. Aindelph and Clink on either side of him were exactly the same.
"Indeed. If it has that important an effect, the story changes."
"Ha. Beanpole. Beardy. I’m a gnome who loves food so much I eat six meals a day. Unlike you two, I’ve liked desserts from the start."
"Now, now. We all understand the hearts of other men equally, do we not?"
Erica watched the three men putting on airs with solemn faces that did not suit them at all, then turned her head toward the seat beside her with a look of pure disdain.
"Zealot. Why are you so quiet?"
"Ah, ah. Huh? What? Why isn’t the food coming out yet?"
"…Were you spacing out?"
"No, to be honest, this is my first time in a place like this."
A bashful smile. The ever-cold Lumiere wore a faintly flushed face and smiled small.
"Somewhere this soft and fluffy… I’d only ever imagined it. It’s a little embarrassing."
In other words, she had been so swollen with anticipation that she had no room left to listen to anything else. Erica closed her eyes without thinking and tipped her head back. Compared to the male mayflies, how thoroughly wholesome a reaction this was. She almost felt tears coming on.
"Huh? What. Why are you suddenly doing that?"
"No, zealot. I only hoped that you at least would not be contaminated by those filthy bastards and would stay exactly as you are in your zealous faith."
"I keep telling you it’s not zealotry…!"
Erica snorted, too dumbfounded to do otherwise.
"When your faith is strong enough that the god you believe in lends you power for a moment, that is exactly zealotry."
"Lady Yustitia simply answered my earnest prayer…!"
"Same difference. The result is identical, isn’t it?"
Lumiere kept protesting. Erica simply closed her ears as her answer.
And at last the long-awaited moment arrived. The café manager wheeled a wooden cart up to their table. First came custard puddings and ice cream portioned into bowls for each person. Next, egg tarts and every variety of pie in abundance. Finally, after setting a multi-tiered stand holding castella, crêpes, and a meringue cake browned on top, the manager bowed to the group and left.
"…This pointy-ear has no sense of money and ordered this many sweet things?"
"Truly the words of a petty dwarf."
"How dare you call me petty!?"
"Isn’t it obvious? You mayflies asked me to guide you into the inner citadel. When did I ever say I would—"
The two most quarrelsome members of the party launched into another fierce exchange of opinions. And just when things had quieted a little, this again? Jurin and Clink clutched their foreheads and shook their heads. The only silver lining was the environment itself—their voices did not rise too high. That was the sole comfort.
Lumiere, focused on the table no matter what the rest of the party did, fixed her attention on a dessert she had never seen before: the ice cream, portioned into small round bowls and served with spoons.
"Hmm. Unlike those others, it has no smell at all. And it’s melting. Ice? No… it’s incredibly soft."
The spoon sank in with almost no resistance, far beyond what she had imagined. Lumiere flinched in surprise and looked at her companions.
"Crazy. How much is this tiny tart alone? One shilling? A whole silver coin? This tiny thing costs as much as several mugs of beer…!"
"It’s the inner citadel, so isn’t that only natural? Or so I’d like to say, but this is considerable."
"Ha. If you add up the prices of every dessert here, how many decent weapons could you buy? Insane. This is practically lunacy."
"Shut your mouths before I sew them shut."
But the men of the group could not help their shock. The portions were tiny, yet the prices were outrageous beyond imagination. Horror and thrills ran among them. Lumiere decided the others looked thoroughly unhelpful and abandoned the idea of asking. She simply ate the thing called ice cream.
"…!!!"
What in the world was this taste and texture? A flavor, aroma, and sensation she had never experienced in her life. Goosebumps rose from the crown of Lumiere’s head to the tips of her toes. As a devout priestess she had of course eaten cake, pie, and tart from time to time—religion and festivals were closely linked, after all. But nothing she had ever tasted before was anything like ice cream.
Rougher than custard, yet softer than pure white snow. A denser, richer taste than cream flooded her mouth. And that sweet scent. As the cold ice cream melted on her tongue it exploded with fragrance—heavier than fresh fruit, yet infinitely lighter than sugar. A refined sweetness that matched it perfectly. Bees might swarm at any moment. If she had to put it into words, it was the pure scent of unheated sugar itself. With her limited vocabulary, that was the best she could manage.
Clink.
She already finished it?
No—that wasn’t it. At the pure, clear sound so out of place with the situation, the four party members who had been verbally stabbing one another all focused their gazes on Lumiere. Suddenly embarrassed, Lumiere set the spoon down with a sullen air.
"W-what. Why are you all staring at me like that all of a sudden?"
"Suddenly this whole performance feels idiotic."
Aindelph, who had been quarreling most passionately in a hushed voice, let out a long sigh.
"Right. Well, there are places that charge gold for a big steak or wine depending on the shop, so for a place inside the inner citadel this is actually fairly reasonable."
"And it’s all the rage across Coldon right now, is it not?"
"For men and women alike, no less."
"If it’s fashionable in Coldon, then even though it’s autumn, it will spread across all of Iceland in the blink of an eye."
Before Lumiere could say a word, the men amicably began serving themselves from the desserts that had been set out. After all, if even the noble lords said it was good for virility, what did the price matter?
"W-what gives them the right to look at me and decide on their own that I’m idiotic? Do you understand? What did I even do?"
"Our foolishly pure zealot."
"Erica?"
"Please stay exactly as you are in this rotten party."
"Erica!?"
The party’s sole sane person (though no one would admit it), Erica sincerely prayed to the World Tree as she served herself a slice of crêpe cake. Then, suddenly, a question occurred to her.
"Hey. Waiter. I’ve got a question."
"What might that be, guest?"
"What exactly is this spice called vanilla? What’s the raw material?"
"Oh."
The waiter began desperately calculating how he was going to escape this moment.