Fluffycloud Collapsed
Even after the grueling march, no one in the column could afford to let their guard down—not with its size and firepower.
It wasn't the bandits, the wildfolk, or the barbarian tribes they feared.
It was Hunter Drake, infamous for charging in no matter the odds.
Ice trolls and owl bears so starved they saw nothing but prey.
Griffons, hippogriffs, and wyverns that went mad at the sight of livestock.
Beasts and monsters that struck the moment vigilance slipped.
The instant any gap appeared, predatory eyes and howls fixed upon them without fail.
But that was over now.
The strongest warrior in present-day Iceland had joined the column.
The wild's children, who had been biding their time to strike at the long, stretched-out gaps despite the column's scale and might, instinctively sensed the apex predator and turned away.
The only beasts and monsters still foolish enough to attack were packs of low-grade undead that had lost all reason, or creatures in absolute desperation.
The column had become utterly safe—so safe that the duke's youngest daughter could leave her carriage and ride a giant dungeon hamster for fun.
No: Alicia was safer than anyone else in the entire procession.
Safer even than Alfred, the man they were supposed to be protecting.
Lurch—lurch—
"Heeheeheehee—heeheeheeheeheeheehee—"
"Does my little cutie like her present that much?"
Alicia's eyes sparkled. Without a word she nodded so hard her hair, flushed red as if about to explode, bounced wildly. Seated in the saddle with Richard, both her hands busily stroked the giant animal's fur.
Human tastes are as varied as the stars in the sky, yet the threshold for cuteness is surprisingly low.
People will find even fierce beasts adorable if the mood is right.
And here was a giant dungeon hamster.
Huge, round, and soft, its pelt thick and plump.
Eyes pure as a cow's, the kind you could fall into.
Aggression so low it might as well not exist.
A massive creature armed with every possible kind of loveliness, constantly working its relatively tiny mouth.
Even the men dropped their wariness; women found it impossible to dislike.
Alicia was conquered on the spot.
She never stood a chance.
"Fluffycloud is all soft and squishy and fluffy!"
"If my pretty girl is happy, then Grandpa is happy too."
"But Grandpa, what does Fluffycloud eat?"
"This fellow, you mean?"
Richard kept one arm around Alicia and, with his free hand, adjusted the reins of the giant dungeon hamster—Fluffycloud, as Alicia had christened it.
"Like anything that lives in a dungeon, it's an omnivore. But what it loves most is fresh grass, fruit, and seeds."
"Eh? So Fluffycloud eats meat too?"
"Not just meat. It gnaws the bones clean."
Something this cute and fluffy eats that?
Alicia was aghast. She twisted her neck around and stared at Richard with round, disbelieving eyes.
"Eh."
"The reason's simple. Look at the size of the little rascal."
"Not 'little rascal.' Fluffycloud."
"Right. Fluffycloud."
Richard stroked the soft fur of the giant dungeon hamster where it spilled outside the saddle.
"Could a beast bigger than an ox-horse really keep that bulk on nothing but grass, fruit, and seeds?"
"Ox-horse?"
"Cattle and horses."
"Is that how it works…"
Living in the limited ecosystem of a dungeon—large or small—forced omnivory. Alicia still seemed unconvinced, trailing off.
"Well, cattle and horses will eat meat readily enough if they need to, so it's not all that strange."
"…Eh? Grandpa's lying. Cows and horses are herbivores. You just said so."
"There's one thing you're mistaken about, Alicia."
Just as the serious truth that herbivores are not animals that eat only plants, but animals that can live on only plants, was about to emerge, a soldier came running from the front.
"What is it? I happen to be having a fine time."
"Your Grace the Margrave. His Grace the Duke suggests that it might be time for you and the young lady to return to the carriage."
"My one and only son thinks he can rob his father of his joy! Not a chance!"
"Not a chance!"
Alicia, none too eager to go back into the carriage either, echoed Richard at the top of her lungs.
"Alicia is going to ride Fluffycloud and pet him some more!"
"Baroness Poppins also asked me to convey that this is quite enough and that you should return now…"
"Uh… uh… b-but the carriage is boring now. It's no fun."
A child's curiosity for "travel" only lasts a day or two.
All she had seen was the same half-thawed meadows and forests, and she had been cooped up in the carriage except when the column briefly stopped.
The novel and delicious meals and snacks every day had been wonderful, of course—but only for a while. Boredom had returned with a vengeance.
Alicia's patience had reached its limit.
"Well, Alicia says the same, so use that as my excuse."
"Your Grace?"
Richard stroked his magnificently groomed beard and smiled.
"I wanted a little more time with my little cutie anyway. Missed her last year—this year we ought to spend a bit more together."
"I-I see, Your Grace."
"Poppins will understand once she hears it from me."
Even Poppins, who oversaw Alicia's education, could hardly insist when told that a grandfather wanted time with the grandchild he hadn't seen in two years.
And when Richard simply waved him off, the soldier had no choice but to sprint back toward the head of the column.
"Mm… Grandpa. Does Fluffycloud eat cookies too?"
"Of course he does. He'll love them."
In the wild, where calories meant survival, an aristocrat's snack loaded with butter and sugar was the finest delicacy imaginable.
No giant dungeon hamster would turn it down.
"What about jerky?"
"Why? Want to give the fellow a treat?"
"Not 'fellow.' Fluffycloud."
"Right. Fluffycloud."
Pleased that Richard had corrected himself, Alicia nodded and pulled a small pouch from her clothes—stuffed full of jerky and cookies.
Squeak?
Fluffycloud, ambling along on all fours with the column, turned his head back, eyes sparkling. His thick, fluffy fur folded in soft creases.
"Just like a rat—he's got a nose for snacks."
"Eh, Fluffycloud is a rat?"
"Yes. Though that isn't what matters right now."
"Ah, wait just a second, Fluffycloud."
Alicia held out a cookie to the hamster staring at the pouch.
Lick—
The giant dungeon hamster twitched its nose and snout, then a long tongue shot out and snatched the cookie. Only after completely emptying the pouch of jerky and cookies did it lower its head again.
"Was Fluffycloud really hungry?"
"Giant dungeon hamsters usually stuff their cheeks full of food and only eat when their den or the area around them is safe."
"Their cheeks? Aww… I wanted to watch him eat."
Alicia stroked the fur again, looking disappointed.
"Don't worry. It's nearly evening; the column will stop soon."
"But this isn't Fluffycloud's home."
"Ha—with this grandpa right here, how dangerous could it be?"
Just as Richard said, the column halted not long after to make camp for the night.
Iceland is cold year-round.
Even summer brings cool breezes; spring needs no explanation. They had left Coldon long ago, yet snow and chill still filled every direction.
What people craved then was simple.
Hot, spicy, greasy broth.
It was pure instinct.
The moment camp was set, smoke and sparks rose from fires all around, and soon the pungent scent of Red Witch's Finger mingled with the rich aroma of broth.
In the kitchen tent, Karem was preparing a greasy, spicy soup dish on Catherine's orders.
"Jjamppong, is it. I've heard the name several times, yet it remains distinctive."
A name unlike any cuisine from any country in Europa.
Even while rolling and folding dough, Mary kept glancing at the giant mimic meat Karem was butchering.
"Aren't we eating it a little too often, though?"
"Well, the lady herself wants it, so what can we do?"
"Still, having the same dish so frequently seems excessive."
True enough—they had been eating it every day since leaving the cliff coastline. Not even once a day, but morning and evening without fail.
"The giant mimic we brought is visibly dwindling, isn't it? Perhaps we should start spacing it out."
"I can't exactly tell her not to eat it when she wants it."
"I'd give her my stomach and gallbladder both."
"As if that would ever happen."
Mary sighed heavily, as if the situation were hopeless, but Karem disagreed. At the very least he was keeping a firm grip on his own stomach.
"So how is your project coming along?"
"Would you like to see?"
"Let's have a look at those famous skills of yours."
Mary snorted and cut the dough into small pieces. Each piece was rolled flat in an instant; before long they covered the entire cutting board.
"There. Look."
She lifted the sheet with both hands for display. The broad beige pastry was so thin that Mary's expressionless face on the other side showed through clearly.
"Well?"
"…I never for a moment thought you'd fail, but seeing it in person still doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?"
The paper-thin dough was layered, one sheet after another, into an oil-coated tray, each layer brushed with butter.
"No matter how skilled you are at baking, making something that polished just from looking at a cookbook…"
"If you're jealous, you should have been reborn a house elf."
"I don't particularly want to live as a workaholic."
"Junior Karem is to be pitied for not understanding the glory of work."
What on earth is this person saying?
While Karem's soul left his body at the unprecedented nonsense, the thin pastry continued to fill the tray.
"Junior Karem. Your hands have stopped."
"What kind of ridiculous thing are you even saying?"
"We Brownies are all of one heart and mind on this. Not understanding the glory of work… This is why conversation with non-house elves is impossible."
As the absurd statements continued and Karem fell silent again, Mary thickly spread the pre-ground shelled walnuts and pistachios across the tray.
Then she layered more pastry, brushed butter, layered again, brushed again—repeating until no dough remained.
When the pale-green pistachio powder beneath was no longer visible, she took a knife and cut the dough into a lattice. Hot butter was poured over the top.
"Ugh. Whatever. I'm going back to cooking."
"As you wish."
Once the tray went into the preheated portable oven, Karem immediately began stir-frying vegetables in a pan.
Sizzle-sizzle—bubble-bubble—
"So, since you said we'd cut back on the jjamppong… have you thought of a substitute?"
"That's the problem, isn't it."
Karem flipped the vegetables while he thought.
In the end the cold weather made everyone crave spicy, bracing broth. He had first considered making gamjatang, but they lacked perilla seeds and perilla leaves—the most important ingredients.
"What if we load it with Red Witch's Finger and bell peppers and make a meat stew?"
Until only last year this region had treated Red Witch's Finger as a poisonous weed, so goulash didn't exist here. A stew that was its spiritual ancestor might, but nothing more.
"Put those two in and you'll get something bright red and fiercely spicy."
"Then we add tomato to boost the savoriness."
"That actually sounds rather good."
Mary paused in the middle of making syrup and stood perfectly still, eyes narrowed as if tasting the idea in her mind.
Karem, having given the vegetables only enough heat to take on a light char, dumped them straight into a pot and poured in the kelp dashi he had already prepared.
He set the pot over the campfire at once.
"By the way, for a pastry it already smells incredible just from baking."
"I can already picture pouring the hot syrup over it. It's hard to wait."
"I've always thought the desert countries—hm?"
"F-Fluffycloud! No!!!"
A familiar voice shrieked at the same instant that claws tore into one side of the tent.
Rrrrip! Shhhhk—
A furry snout shoved through the rent fabric in a single motion.
Karem and Mary froze at the sudden intruder. The giant dungeon hamster, head already inside the tent, was forcing its way further in, completely ignoring its owner Alicia's cries. Neatly stacked items toppled in an avalanche.
"Ah! Hi Karem! Hi Mary too! Fluffycloud, calm down! No!"
"Good day, Lady Alicia. This is—no, the oven!"
The moment Fluffycloud bumped the portable oven, Mary shoved it back. Blasting it away with magic was impossible with Alicia and the tent in the way.
"…Shit. The jjamppong."
"Is jjamppong the priority right now? Go get help!"
"Right, understood. Hah."
Mary was single-handedly holding back a giant dungeon hamster clearly far larger than herself.
She had to be using house-elf magic.
Karem started to leave the tent for reinforcements, then stopped when a massive figure swept the flap aside and stepped in.
"What in the world is going o—"
Iceland's strongest warrior.
Richard Felwinter had entered.
Sizzle—!
"Fluffycloud! No! Listen to Alicia! The butter smells heavenly, but the oven is hot!"
"In that case this giant dungeon hamster will have to—"
"Mary, no!"
Even with the apex predator present, Fluffycloud—now thoroughly hooked on the snacks Alicia had given it—had its entire attention fixed on the aroma pouring from the oven.
"Um… Your Grace the Margrave. Could you lend a hand?"
"Hmph. Simple enough."
At Karem's words Richard strode straight into the wrecked kitchen tent.
Sizzle-sizzle! Sizzle—
"You don't put your paws on something without the owner's permission."
Thump.
He lightly rapped Fluffycloud on the head.
To the animal itself, however, it was anything but light.
Boom—!
"Urb."
Its skull rang from the inside out under the indescribable impact. Fluffycloud collapsed on the spot, crushing Mary beneath it.
"…Grandpa killed Fluffycloud!"
"No, my little bear cub. Fluffycloud is just… hmm. Yes. Taking a little nap—"
"I hate Grandpa!"
Richard Felwinter was Iceland's strongest.
To reach that height he had defeated countless foes, and even in old age he had fought innumerable battles to keep his place.
Injury was nothing unnatural to him—from light scrapes to grave wounds.
But the single sentence that reached his ears just now…
That one sentence from Alicia dealt him a more serious wound than any beast, monster, or anything else he had ever faced.
"I hate Grandpa!"
"Huuuuurk—!"
Even under Karem's flat, salted gaze, Richard clutched his heart and crashed to the floor in a heap.
Richard had fallen.
The world before his eyes went black.
Sugar, salt, and flour drifted uselessly through the air.
Mary, thrashing free from under the giant fur ball in the chaotic kitchen tent, cast a frantic look around and then urgently checked the baklava she had put in the oven.
"…It feels as though my heart is being torn out, but this is no longer edible."
"What? What's wrong? Oh. Oh… yeah."
It was blackened as if someone had dumped an entire pepper mill over it.