A Day in the Life of Tribal Girl Matilda

Matilda was a wildly curious seven-year-old dark elf girl.

As recently as last year, she had still been enduring a harsh wandering life, but that was now an old story. She had completely adapted to life in the Wandering Castle.

When she woke in the morning, the first place she went was the bathroom that every household possessed. Here, clean water could be used without limit, at any time.

Chalpak-chalpak.

Matilda loved the smooth, immaculate feel of the bathroom against her bare feet. Her grandmother and mother felt the same.

-Something like this could only be found in the wealthy mansions of the Eastern Empire. Though unlike mosaic tiles, these withstand impact and the passage of time so steadfastly. Truly remarkable.

-Indeed, Mother. Whatever the secret method, moss doesn't even form on them. They're wonderfully easy to clean.

Shwaaaa.

Matilda caught the cheerfully spraying water in her cupped palms and washed her face. It was a luxury unimaginable during the days of their wandering life.

The kind of life where you held a mouthful of water and then trickled it bit by bit into your palms to wipe your face. Matilda never wanted to go back to those times.

-Tsk. At this rate, won't the children grow up too soft?

-Shut it, old man.

Her grandfather often grumbled about the excess of convenience, but every time, her grandmother clamped down on it immediately. Even Matilda, who favored her grandfather, never took his side on this matter.

Once she had washed and come out, Matilda's older sister Frida was practicing for her interview.

"I am Frida Fox. I possess the swiftest feet among those my age. Lady Cassandra would have seen me take first place in the footrace at the sports meet the Castle Lord held for us last week. I'm good with my hands too. I learned the work from my grandfather, who serves as a groom, and he often told me I was clever. My grandfather is very stingy with praise."

While people of this era did not possess much freedom in choosing their occupations, it was especially severe among the Black Hand Tribe.

Upon reaching adulthood, they had to choose one without fail: warrior or craftsman.

Since both the warrior and craftsman paths branched into many splits, it was encouraged to experience a variety of things before making the choice.

Naturally, there were bound to be popular fields and unpopular ones. Cassandra's ranger unit, which only women could apply for, was always popular.

"I am the eldest daughter of Sir Luden, a knight who fights shoulder to shoulder with the Castle Lord. Having strongly inherited his blood..."

Even just to pass the competition for a tryout experience, one needed to appeal in ways that stood out from the rest.

Of course, for Matilda, who was only seven years old, this was a distant story. For now, it was enough to play excitedly day after day and grow up healthy.

In the living room, Matilda found her mother tending to the bow she had used in her active service days.

"Ehehe."

When she burrowed deep into that embrace, the roundly swollen belly pressed against her cheek. It was the sensation of a younger sibling that could not have been experienced just a few months ago.

"When do you kick?"

"The time's already passed. Seems you're the quiet type."

Tok-tok.

"Knocking doesn't mean you have to kick, okay?"

"Mm..."

"You and your sister must have been bored out of your minds. You were kicking mother's belly this way and that the whole time."

Laughing, her mother stroked Matilda's hair.

"Mother's hands are truly soft."

"My feelings are rather mixed. I'm happy that my daughter likes them, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but it feels like I'm drifting further from being a warrior. Back when I was shooting my bow in earnest, there wasn't a day my calluses ever faded."

"It's fine! Even if your hands are soft and squishy, here is still hard... Huh?"

Matilda had lifted the hem of her mother's tunic, and her eyes widened. It was because the sculpted abdominal muscles, maintained without pause even after retirement, had changed.

The six densely clustered peaks had grown distant from one another due to the rise of the underlying terrain. It was a proper sight seen when the women of the Black Hand Tribe became pregnant.

This was the period when dark elf wives wielded the strongest power within the household. Even if a dispute arose over how the house was run, simply showing this would resolve it in short order.

Any stubborn husband at all, as if mesmerized, would bow his head to his wife with a dazed, blissful grin.

"You'll be able to look after your younger sibling well, won't you? Once your sister enters the warrior's path, the Agoge, she'll begin living in the dormitory."

"No problem! Just leave it to me."

Matilda struck her chest with her small fist. Thump-thump.

Dark elves were a race that had never possessed their own grazing lands. They carried on a nomadic life within the territories of settled peoples. Their existence was one of hardship under constant pressure, and so their birth rate was low.

However, after settling in the Wandering Castle and receiving Eugene's political protection, their living conditions — safety, food, medicine — had all improved enormously.

This led to a birth rate multiplied several times over. Under the old circumstances, it would have taken a long time for Matilda to see a younger sibling.

Before breakfast was laid out, Matilda hurriedly dashed to the first-floor lobby.

That place was guarded by the dwarf garrison, whom the uncles called runts. They were runts only to the adults, for to Matilda, their shoulders looked as vast and broad as a mountain.

"You've come again?"

"What's so fun about the gate opening that you come to gawk at it so often?"

Since they saw her face so often, the dwarves waved. The reason Matilda came running to the lobby at this early hour was to watch the castle gate being opened.

"It's time. Opening the gate!"

The guard captain shouted and worked some mechanism.

Gurrreung.

Then, the colossal castle gate, which would not have sustained a single scratch even if a minotaur had rammed it, began to move.

-This castle is alive. Blood flows through its walls, muscle pulses through it, and it can feel all of you it holds within its body.

-Yes! Castle Lord!

Matilda remembered Eugene, who had once stroked the heads of dozens of dark elf little ones, herself included, one by one.

The other children had been too busy giggling at the lord's touch, but Matilda had focused more on the story itself.

'The Wandering Castle is alive, and its walls are suffused with flesh.'

It was the element of this castle that Matilda found the most fascinating.

Bulttuk-bulttuk.

At the edge of the lobby, bundles of muscle that looked like elongated conch siphons moved of their own accord and pulled the gate like ropes.

-A, a lamia!

-Garrison! Where's the garrison?!

At the banquet, a few of the Sicilian nobles who had visited the castle had caused quite the fuss. It was because they had mistaken them for enormous serpents lurking in the corners of the entrance.

Crack-crack.

Ttuduk.

The muscle bundles, each about two armfuls around a grown man, coiled round and round as they pulled the gate.

If one looked closely, behind the muscle bundles lay mechanical devices that were no longer in use. The mass of flesh that had claimed them as a conch might its shell was the origin of the muscle bundles.

It was one of the parts the Wandering Castle had acquired upon being reborn as a living thing from hell. The dwarves could only control them through the mechanisms, but Eugene could move them by will alone.

-Dear residents. This is a real sea. It is on an entirely different level from the northern inland sea of Roman. Enjoy this warm sunlight and these cool waves to your hearts' content.

When teleporting to some exotic location, Eugene would personally open the gate and introduce it, so everyone was well aware of that authority.

-This castle is also the Castle Lord's own body. Scribbling graffiti on it is no different from doing something awful to him.

-S, sorry. I won't do it again. Ueong, ueong...

Thus, a little one caught scribbling on the castle was beaten by the teacher until his calves were fit to burst.

Kuwoong.

When the gate opened, the muscle bundles also ceased moving.

Around the mechanical devices, several bluish eyes had sprouted like those of a shellfish. Those eyes gazed back at Matilda, who was staring at them, in just the same way.

Kkamppak. Kkamppak.

Girls her age disliked them, calling the eyes grotesque, but to Matilda, they were only wondrous.

"Fascinating, isn't it? There's no particular need for us to control them. Those eyes watch and stop on their own. You really get the feeling, pahk-pahk, that this is a truly living castle."

"A castle gate possessing its own will. You couldn't find even that in the underground kingdoms."

Those whose interests aligned on technical matters got along intimately, transcending age and race alike.

"Last time, Uncle Rampage held up a ladder for me, so I got to touch it. Its movement is soft like beef, but it's unbelievably hard. Like rope twisted out of iron."

"The gate is open. Small talk ends here."

The idle chatter between the dwarf garrison and Matilda was cut short by the guard captain's low voice.

Soldiers and children. The two made a combination permitted great leniency by anyone. Yet this upright captain permitted no exceptions whatsoever while on duty.

"Goodness, this fellow truly has no flexibility."

"He's a hard case who won't even react when his own little son toddles over to greet him, isn't he? When professional spirit goes that far, it's a sickness. A sickness."

The guard captain did not bother answering his subordinates as they openly badmouthed him. He simply tapped the medal pinned to the left side of his chest.

"..."

"Tch!"

The subordinates, having nothing left to say, clicked their tongues.

-Kellog. This medal is awarded for the meritorious deed of performing a flawless security check during the Kitania criminal sweep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠operation. Thanks to this, many ringleaders attempting to slip away unnoticed were caught. What a sentry needs is not flexibility. Continue to keep the entrance of the Wandering Castle tightly secured.

The medal pinned directly by Eugene silenced his subordinates far more efficiently than a hundred retorts.

Waving at the blue eyes, Matilda returned home, finished her breakfast, and then resumed her explorations.

"Hahp!"

"Yap!"

In the large training hall, boys and girls arrayed in ranks were practicing the tribe's traditional martial art.

They were Agoge trainees. It was a course every member of the Black Hand Tribe had to complete without exception upon reaching a certain age.

"Aaaaagh!"

"Surrender at once! Unless you want your arm broken!"

"As if I'd surrender?!"

Elsewhere, older students were practicing grappling.

This technique, which minutely analyzed joint structure and viciously gouged at those weak points, was a gift that Eugene had bestowed upon them.

"Stop! That's enough! Any further and there'll be injury."

The girl, her face a blazing red, sweat streaming down like a waterfall, absolutely refused to surrender. The instructor, seeming to find her fighting spirit admirable, intervened to mediate.

All the Agoge cadets and instructors wore a strangely shaped white uniform. It was a garment called the 'dobok,' commissioned by Eugene from the Kitania weavers.

"The more I look, the more its technical structure draws admiration. The opponent's own resistance is what lets it reverse and apply even more pressure to the vital points."

"Where did the Castle Lord learn techniques like these? I've never heard of the Knight of Prophecy being skilled at grappling or wrestling."

Even the dark elf instructors were confident they would not lose to any knight on the continent when it came to grappling.

Yet the new techniques Eugene had taught them were on an entirely different plane in their precision and destructive power.

That was only natural, as they were the result of centuries of refinement into military technique by experts well-versed in science and medicine. The instructors simply marveled, unable to know the secret.

"Thinking about it only makes your head hurt. How often does the Castle Lord bring in strange things like this?"

Even outside of combat techniques, the residents generally brushed things off this way. Deep thought ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn't bring understanding, only a headache.

On the other hand, not everyone viewed Eugene's gifts favorably.

"The Castle Lord is too merciful. Raising them this soft..."

"Tsk, tsk! They must be instilled with proper venom from a young age."

Originally, the Agoge of the Black Hand Tribe did not consist solely of practical training. It also included a good number of cruel acts, what might be called the toxic hazing typical of the medieval age.

"It goes without saying that flesh must burst and heal repeatedly for the body to harden properly."

"Give it up. The mere mention of the stone skin training makes him frown. Don't get yourself marked for nothing."

The Black Hand Tribe understood from experience that broken bones mended thicker and harder.

Thus, they believed the same must be true for skin. Under the name of conditioning, they had often inflicted beatings that bordered on child abuse.

The reason Cassandra's ranger company was so popular was also because anyone assigned there didn't have to do stone skin training.

-It is the Castle Lord's command. Stone-skin training is strictly forbidden. No objections will be accepted.

And by Eugene's order, many harsh practices were permanently deleted from the Agoge process.

Quite a few traditionalists voiced their discontent, but Rex kept the men in line, and Cassandra kept the women in line.

Salkeum salkeum.

Matilda's footsteps grew cautious as she left the Agoge training hall. Her next destination wasn't a forbidden area, but it was a place where children were not welcome.

"Everyone repeat after me! Beer is not barley tea!"

"Beer is not barley tea!"

"If you get caught eating it on duty, you'll get beaten half to death."

"..."

"Not repeating? You sons of bitches?"

It was the brewery.

Before the dwarf brewers who were stretched out on the ground in push-up position, a half-finished mug of beer sat in front of each one. Before them, an old dwarf was shaking a fist like a rock.

"Huhuhut."

"What scum."

The dark elf brewers passing by them sneered.

The Wandering Castle brewery was a representative workplace where the two races labored in the same space. This was because the ancient kingdom-made high-capacity brewing apparatus that aided fermentation and processing was only located here.

"...Tch. Everyone on your feet."

At the old dwarf's command, who hated being looked down upon by the elf-folk more than the lapse in discipline, everyone scrambled to their feet.

In this place, the dwarves brewed beer and mushroom wine, while the dark elves brewed I-rak and fruit wine.

The warrior class had shared joys and sorrows under Eugene and experienced various battles together, developing a rough sort of fondness, but the brewers would start fighting the moment their eyes met.

"You ear-freaks stinking of milk."

"What are you saying, you mold-lickers?"

"It is not mold, it is mycelium! As always, ignorance must be your pride."

"You're the ignorant ones, you ground-shrimps. Do you know how great this milk-wine is? With one bowl of this, you can easily fight for half a day. Can your mold-liquor manage three swings of a blade per bowl, maybe?"

"What importance does some mere caloric content have compared to a drink's flavor and aroma..."

As if he had been waiting, the dark elf brewer curled up the corner of his mouth.

"The Castle Lord praised it as excellent combat rations too. Are you disparaging his judgment now?"

"N-no! Don't you put that ridiculous false charge on me!"

The startled dwarf brewer jumped up in a fluster. Even to young Matilda, they were adults who fought in a remarkably childish way. Still, even this much was a significant improvement.

Grab!

Matilda, who had been creeping deeper in a cat-like posture, was caught by the scruff of her neck. A middle-aged dark elf woman was glaring at her, eyes burning with fury.

"You little brat! Children aren't allowed here! Go back at once!"

"Hmph."

The constitution of the elf-folk surpassed even dwarves, who were famed as drunkards. Thanks to that incredible detoxification ability, when Eugene rescued isolated tribal warriors, he had not seen a single case of skin disease among them.

No matter how much human liquor they drank, they almost never got drunk. It was the secret to how Varda could receive guests at the banquet hall without issue even while going in and out of the restroom.

Thus, the dark elf brewers crafted special liquor for their race. A hard liquor that could knock out even the elf-folk.

"They said Varda-nim is coming soon."

"Huh? Why?"

Even as she was being carried out, Matilda pricked up her ears at the women's conversation.

"She said she wanted to make a certain drink and asked for our help."

"No way?"

"Exactly that no way. If she were just going to drink it herself, she'd simply ask for it. Why would she come to us to make it personally?"

Among branches of the elves, there was a custom of giving one's lover personally brewed alcohol on a certain anniversary. It was a tradition shared by Varda's elven clan and the Black Hand Tribe.

"Don't ever come back here. A little kid like you could get drunk just from smelling the fumes."

"Ah, I got it."

After being chased out, Matilda stuck her tongue out at the middle-aged woman's back and then ran off to another place.

She spent more time running than walking when on the move, but her breath never once grew ragged. This made her a talent suited for Cassandra's ranger company even more than her older sister Frida.

The last place Matilda headed for was the newly opened memorial hall. The nameplate hanging at the entrance read Bonyard.

The name was chosen both to commemorate the first city Eugene had formed a bond with, and because it fit the identity of a bone exhibition hall.

A purple carpet imported from the East covered the floor, lending the space a refined atmosphere.

-Sister. Sister. What's Bonyard for? Last time I saw dwarf uncles doing construction there.

-Matilda. I don't care about other places, but when you go there, keep your wits about you. If you run without looking and bump into a trophy in there, a simple caning won't be the end of it.

-So what is it for?

-It's where they display the bones of monsters hunted by the Castle Lord and the sub-chieftain.

-Ohhhh!

-Are you listening to your sister? You absolutely cannot run there?

She had been told that if something couldn't be taxidermied, like the gnoll uncle and goat uncle guarding the lobby, it came here.

"Oh! Our exhibition hall's first guest has arrived. Looks like you ran right over after eating breakfast?"

"C-Castle Looord?!"

There, Eugene, Walker, and his apprentices were present. Even Matilda, who feared nothing in the world, shrank back before her lord's gaze.

Though she hadn't done anything wrong, she somehow felt like her mother would scold her when she got back.

"Nothing to be afraid of. Come here."

"Y-yes!"

At Eugene's gesture, Matilda timidly approached. Then she discovered the immense structure looming over her, and her face went blank.

"Isn't it magnificent?"

"Wh-what is this?"

"It's a Hydra."

The body, reminiscent of a dinosaur, was fixed in a pose that preserved the dynamism of its living movements.

Its huge feet looked ready to scoop up a knight and his warhorse to squeeze out the meat juice. Each of the protruding claws was a level comparable to a battering ram.

The great spine, thick as an old tree, ran along its back and then split into seven branches as if forking out.

At the end connected to each neck was a skull overflowing with ferocity. At differing heights, their jaws were gaping wide as if to devour the whole world.

Right above where Matilda stood was a head with its mouth wrenched open, as if poised to crash down onto the floor.

"Haaah."

The skull's eye sockets were large enough for Matilda to crawl in and out of. Matilda shuddered, as if feeling an unknowable gaze emanating from that pitch-black darkness.

"Nothing to be afraid of. It's already dead, after all."

"I, I feel like something is watching me."

"You have a talent as a witch. To notice the spirit dwelling in the bones at such a young age."

Matilda didn't quite understand what Eugene meant, but she stayed still, happy that he was stroking her head.

"Didn't your father, Sir Luden, come home not long ago wearing a fine-looking armor? That was made from this creature's hide."

"Ah! So that was it. It was an incredibly scary-looking armor. When father came home from work, I couldn't run and hug him. I was so terrified my body trembled."

"Oh dear. Sir Luden must have been sad."

"He hurriedly took off the armor and opened his arms. I ran right over and kissed him on the cheek, and he hugged me tight."

Directly beneath the glass-tube light source on the ceiling was a reflector made by Walker and his disciples.

By pulling ropes, the light moved in different angles, casting the Hydra's shadow in all directions. As if the shadows gained life and reenacted its movements from when it lived.

"Whoaah!"

Nearby, Walker wore a broad smile as Matilda gazed at it in genuine wonder.

"A magnificent idea, Castle Lord. How do you come up with things like this?"

"I merely threw out an idea. It is you all who labored to complete the device, that is what is truly remarkable."

In truth, the one who enjoyed this exhibition hall the most was Eugene.

'This much ought to qualify as a medieval fantasy planetarium.'

It felt like he had revived one of Earth's amusements that was vanishing beyond the edges of his memory.

"It's much bigger than what Grandmother told me. Did you catch this monster, Castle Lord?"

"I didn't catch it alone. It was possible because my army moved as one heart. Here, look at this."

Around the skeleton were panels explaining the Hydra's biological characteristics. Illustrations capturing the historic hunting moment were attached as well.

A picture depicted Eugene charging toward the Hydra and the backs of the knights following him. Eugene pointed his index finger at the second knight from the right.

"Matilda. This is your father."

"!!!"

"And this was your father's weapon."

Behind the illustration, the lance tips that had embedded themselves in the Hydra's body were gathered neatly. Before they sortied, the squires had engraved the name of the knight they served upon them, making ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them easy to distinguish.

"Luden! Luden! Here's another Luden! Another Luden!"

Matilda shouted joyfully as she looked at the four lance tips stained with blue blood.

"You'll have to give your father a big hug when he comes home from work today, yes? Since he is such a great knight."

"I promise! Even if he's wearing the scary armor, I'll run right over and hug him!"

"You hold not only the talent of a witch, but ample qualification as a warrior, too."

After getting her fill of viewing the Hydra skeletal specimen, Matilda ran back the same way she had come.

But warmth was not the only thing in this space.

"..."

"..."

Varda and Cassandra each had their arms crossed, staring at one another.

All morning, they had been heatedly debating at what angle and height the seven Hydra heads should be positioned.

-Varda-nim. Wouldn't it be better if they all opened their mouths and stared at the same point? The viewers would feel the pressure much more vividly. That would make the glory of the Castle Lord who felled the Hydra shine all the brighter.

-Even without this, my knight's dignity is already exalted, so it is fine. It is better to disperse the heads and cultivate artistic variety. It would be a waste for it to look impressive only from specific locations.

"W-we'll be off now."

Once Matilda, who had brought a brief moment of peace, disappeared, the dwarves, too, discreetly tried to flee.

-Senior engineer. What are your thoughts?

-Walker. Speak your mind freely.

-...

Getting caught between the two ladies was something even Walker, who had been through all manner of trials, dreaded.

-Good luck. Hehehe.

There was a reason Rampage had laughed so meaningfully with a face that said, 'Freedom!' when Walker and his disciples arrived at the Wandering Castle.

Varda was the Wandering Castle's undisputed second-in-command and a renowned mage of the forest.

She had contributed greatly in many battles and had also gifted Eugene the Etherje sword. Even the tribal knights rated Varda's authority higher than Cassandra's.

Cassandra, however, was also a powerful figure being discussed as the next chieftain of the Black Hand Tribe. Moreover, she belonged to the royal family of the only dark elf petty kingdom that had successfully settled.

Because her witch's ability was also exceptional, she was scheduled to dedicate a rite and dance at the upcoming New Year's festival in Sicily.

The competitive current that arose like clockwork whenever a great trophy was exhibited was regarded within the castle as something of a natural disaster.

"Where are you going, leaving my lord behind? I'll go with..."

Twitch, twitch.

Flinch, flinch.

When the dwarves were leaving, there had been no reaction, but the ears of the two elf-folk ladies instantly perked up.

"Eugene?"

"Castle Lord?"

"Ah..."

Caught red-handed.

"Here is the ladder."

Walker and his disciples placed the necessary equipment neatly before Eugene and immediately fled.

Eugene had to endure a long and embarrassingly awkward stretch of time caught between the two devastating beauties.

End

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