Chapter 75 - Ice-Cold Wine and Disasradu
Finally, having calmed down, Volf took three potions out of the bag he had brought with him.
"This is for the sköll fang bracelet."
"I did say two, didn’t I?"
"Yeah, but I figured I’d bring an extra one for the workshop. I might slip and hurt myself while assembling the magic sword, just in case."
Dahlia almost asked if that was just an excuse to bring three but decided against it.
If, by any chance, they both got injured at the same time, or if they sustained widespread injuries, having an extra one would indeed be helpful.
She thanked him honestly and decided to place the potions in an easy-to-spot location in the workshop.
It was a little early for dinner, but it was about the time stores would start opening.
Dahlia, having indulged in two large cream puffs, felt she wouldn’t have much appetite for dinner.
So, for Volf, she prepared some stockpiled meat and vegetables, sliced them up, and made grilled meat as she had before. Alongside it, she opened a bottle of wine.
The grilled meat was simple and made with no special ingredients, a dish for commoners, yet the young man was happily savoring it with deliberate, thoughtful chewing.
Dahlia secretly observed him as she sipped her drink, making this a meal experience unlike any she’d had before.
"Some might call this unconventional, but would you like to try this?"
After their meal, Dahlia brought out a bottle of white wine wrapped in cloth and placed it in front of Volf, who was sitting on the sofa.
The bottle was so cold that she was hesitant to hold it directly.
"It’s white wine, right?"
"Yes. It’s called 'ice-cold wine,' chilled right to the edge of freezing. Since freezing the wine could cause the bottle to crack, I popped the cork beforehand. So, its aroma might be slightly diminished."
In this country, common folk didn’t pay much attention to the temperature of wine.
Transporting and storing wine was challenging, and sometimes one might come across a poor-quality bottle. Even wines of the same brand could vary greatly in acidity and bitterness, often diverging from one’s preferences.
In such cases, Dahlia made it a habit to chill the wine thoroughly before drinking it.
This was her so-called "ice-cold" wine.
"Ice-cold, huh... That’s a first for me. I’ll gladly give it a try."
Volf took the bottle from her and carefully poured the wine into two glasses.
Even holding the glass, the aroma of the wine didn’t waft up much.
"Here’s to trying something new wine and to the prosperity of the Rossetti Company—cheers."
"...To the company’s prosperity and peaceful days ahead—cheers."
With a wry smile, they clinked their glasses lightly and brought them to their lips.
The chilled wine touched his lips, its coldness flowing smoothly down his throat and into his stomach. The sensation was refreshing, chasing away the lingering heat in the air.
After a sensation reminiscent of icy water, the mild taste of the white wine spread across the tongue.
By the time the warmth of the alcohol was felt in the supposedly cooled throat, the forgotten acidity and aroma returned.
Rather than savoring it slowly in his mouth, he found himself prioritizing the cool sensation in his throat, and with the second sip, he took a larger amount.
"...This is the first time white wine has hit my throat like this."
The young man narrowed his golden eyes as he gazed at the now-empty glass.
As she poured a generous second helping into his glass, Dahlia responded...
"The aroma does fade a bit, but it’s incredibly refreshing, so I highly recommend it."
"Cold drinks like this in summer really hit the spot."
"Yes, they do. But it’s also perfect after a hot bath in winter."
"Dahlia, that’s a pretty luxurious thought... But I have to admit, this is amazing. I’ll bring some ice magic stones from home to chill wine in my room..."
A wine worth only a few copper coins, yet to a noble like Volf, it was enviably described as a luxury.
It was truly strange.
"This wine is often drinkable even for those who aren’t good with alcohol, so please be mindful of that. Also, even seasoned drinkers might unexpectedly feel its effects strongly."
"Like bad hangovers or getting tipsy too quickly?"
"Exactly. One of my father’s friends once couldn’t move all of a sudden or burst out laughing for no reason."
"Yeah, that’s the tricky thing about chilled liquor. I’ll keep that in mind."
Even for someone who considered themselves strong with alcohol, trying a new drink could sometimes lead to unexpected intoxication.
Alcohol was something to be drunk within the limits where one could enjoy it comfortably.
It would be unfortunate to overdo it and fall ill, and she wanted to avoid causing trouble to others by getting overly drunk or becoming a nuisance.
A certain level of self-control was essential.
"Do you drink with your comrades at the barracks, Volf?"
"Yeah. I often drink with Randolph and Dorino, who were with me today. Sometimes with people from other divisions too."
"Do you talk about magic swords with them?"
"Not really. Most of them feel that magic swords are distant from their lives. We mostly chat about trivial things or vent frustrations. Also, to spice things up a bit, it often turns into a ‘Disasradu,' meaning a confession game where we speak of our secrets."
"Disasradu?"
The phrase sounded somewhat ominous to her.
Did this perhaps involve dangerous confessions involving the Chivalric Order or politics?
"If I were to describe it for women, it would be like a 'heart-to-heart talk.' It might be slightly different, though. Knights and soldiers often do this when they get drunk. We take turns revealing a secret about ourselves that we’re comfortable sharing. The rule is that what’s said in the circle shouldn't be talked about elsewhere."
"It seems like both telling and listening would require a lot of determination."
"No, it's not that formal. Honestly, since it's mostly men, the conversation often turns to women—first loves, preferences, stories about brothels... Ahem. Or about failures at the academy, work mistakes, or even fights. Basically, we share things we wouldn’t want to shout out loud, which creates a sense of camaraderie and solidarity."
It was unclear whether it was an upgraded or downgraded version of girls' talk, but it seemed to be something similar.
However, the topics covered here appeared to be broader.
Perhaps even the discussion about preferences for chests or hips between Volf and Ivano fell into this category.
"Don’t these stories ever spread to others?"
"So far, I’ve never heard of that happening. At the very least, anyone found to have talked would never be trusted again. Besides, people generally don’t share things that would really be a problem if known. And by the time it goes around two or three times, everyone’s too drunk to make sense of anything anyway."
As Dahlia went to retrieve the second bottle of ice-cold wine, she noticed Volf staring at her intently.
She could guess what he was about to say before he even spoke.
"Dahlia, how about giving it a try? Disasradu. Anything goes."
"I’ll take on your challenge."
She replied lightheartedly, but she couldn’t think of anything to share.
Complaints about her broken engagement felt stale, and mentioning her reincarnation was out of the question.
"The one who speaks declares 'Disasradu.' The listener places the palm of their dominant hand face down on the table or floor. According to my senior, that gesture means, 'If I tell anyone, you can cut off this hand.'
"What a terrifying rule."
While she had no intention of sharing anything she heard, the extreme nature of the rule was unsettling.
Was it because they work in the the royal castle? Or because they were knights? She couldn’t tell.
"Should I go first since I brought it up? Or should we flip a coin for fairness?"
"Let’s be fair."
"If it's heads, then you go first; if it's tails, then I go first. Is that alright?"
"Yes."
Volf flicked the silver coin with a practiced motion and placed it on the back of his hand.
The coin gleamed, revealing its head—a design of the kingdom's name and a sheaf of wheat.
"Heads. Looks like you’re up first, Dahlia. Share something fitting."
"Disasradu, uhm... My mother returned to her family home to give birth to me and ended up staying there to give birth to my younger brother, who is a year younger than me."
"Your mother must have been fond of her family home. That’s not uncommon among nobles. I’ve heard plenty of stories about wives frequently going back to their parents’ house."
"Yes, she loved her noble family so much that she divorced my father, handed me over to him, and remarried with 'my brother’s father' at her family’s home. So, I don’t know my mother."
"...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you share something difficult."
"It’s fine. I didn’t feel pressured. I thought it was better to share it myself than to let you hear it from someone else. My ties with her are completely severed, and both my father and mother have passed away."
The still-full wine glass in her hand felt cold against her fingers.
She traced her finger along its beautiful surface, leaving a faint mark, and her lips curved into a wry smile.
"It seems my mother liked my father so much that she pushed her way into his life as a wife. But after I was born, maybe she woke up to reality."
The conversation was happening at a drinking session. The person in front was a trustworthy friend.
What she was about to say now was nothing more than a venting of frustration, destined to be forgotten.
"I’ve been told my hair color is just like my mother’s. The blood of the woman who abandoned my father runs through me too. Honestly, it might be a good thing that I don't understand love. If I did, I wouldn't be able to trust that my own feelings won’t change."
She vowed never to be like her mother, who had left her father.
If passionate feelings were destined to vanish like bubbles someday, then she would avoid such illusions at all costs. She refused to hurt or be hurt because of them—she had always thought this somewhere in her mind.
In reality, she rarely thought about the fiancé she had been engaged to for two years, finding far more joy in creating magical tools.
Yet she couldn’t completely deny that she resembled her mother. This lingering thought pricked her like a small thorn deep inside.
"...I don’t know how your feelings will turn out, but... Dahlia, you are Dahlia. You’re not the same as either of your parents. Besides, children don’t always follow in their parents’ footsteps forever."
"...You're... right"
Hearing Volf’s quiet and thoughtful response somehow eased her heart.
She lowered her gaze, leaving her words vague. Perhaps it was because she had spoken too much, but she felt a little embarrassed.
"It’s a mystery whether it will match the weight of your story, Dahlia, but I’ll share about my family too. Add in some of that noble-style drama!"
"Add some noble-style drama?"
Volf boldly declared this and finished the remainder of his wine in one gulp.
Dahlia, startled by the young man's sudden shift in mood, felt slightly flustered.
"My mother was the third wife. She used to be a knight who served as a duchess's bodyguard, but due to her good looks and her ability to use ice magic, she married my father. The result of that union was me, who can barely use any magic. My father seemed uninterested in me, so I learned swordsmanship from my mother, joined the Monster Subjugation Force, and ended up where I am now... I’ve mostly told you this part already, right?"
"Yes, I’ve heard it."
"Then, Disasradu. When I was ten, our carriage was attacked while traveling to our territory. About twenty people, including my mother, were killed. Protected by my mother and the knights, only I, the first wife, and my brother survived. Losing my mother was painful, and I thought it would be harder to connect with others. But I recently realized how much more my brother has been suffering, thinking it was his fault my mother was taken from us. It’s something I’d never even considered. I was too much of a child."
The rapid confession Volf made carried the weight of a harrowing memory.
Yet, the man in front of Dahlia spoke with a smile that concealed any trace of the pain behind his words.
"I'm glad I realized it now. Otherwise, I’d have stayed a child and kept running away."
"Volf..."
"I want a magic sword because I’m weak."
"But you’re already strong enough, aren’t you?"
"Not even close. I want the strength to defeat multiple people at once if necessary. Against monsters, I want the power to take them down as quickly as possible. For someone like me who can’t use magic, a magic sword is the only way... No, that’s just me trying to sound cool."
A hint of self-deprecation escaped, but once it faded, a deeply serious expression took its place.
"I didn’t want to see those nightmares anymore. The image of my mother lying on the ground, or myself unable to save her. I never wanted to see them again. But now, more than that, I want to become strong enough to surpass my mother. That’s why I want a magic sword. That’s how I feel."
"Surpass your mother?"
"Yeah. She was an ice-wielding magic swordsman, incredibly strong."
"Even now, you still can’t beat her?"
"Not even in my imagination. The sköll fang bracelet makes me feel like I’m a step closer, but..."
If they actually crossed swords, he’d realize that was merely an illusion.
Volf still held a vivid memory of his mother’s swift, heavy strikes combined with her continuous use of ice magic.
"In that case, we really have to make an excellent sword. Let’s work hard on making that magic sword."
"Thanks. I’m counting on you. I’ll keep training as well."
When Volf smiled at Dahlia’s words, his expression softened.
The bar seemed to have been raised significantly, but being relied upon gave her the motivation to work harder.
"Volf... Um, I also have nightmares sometimes. I dream of being surrounded by people yet unable to call for help, collapsing alone and dying."
Hesitating, Dahlia shared her memory prompted by the mention of "nightmares."
That nightmare wasn’t simply a dream—it was the final memory of her past life.
In a way, this might be the closest thing to a confession that Dahlia had.
"If you ever have that nightmare again, let me appear in your dream. I’ll do everything I can to save you."
"And how would I do that?"
Though his words were kind, such a feat seemed impossible.
In fact, the idea of him entering her dreams was rather terrifying.
"Maybe you could develop a magical tool for that?"
"Please don’t suggest impossible things. Entering someone else’s dreams isn’t even in the realm of magical tools anymore."
"But you could do it, Dahlia! I’m sure you could!"
"What’s impossible is impossible!"
Dahlia raised her voice and retorted to Volf, who spoke with his usual full-blown teasing tone.
The laughter of the two echoed in the tower late into the night.
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