Chapter 144 - The Magical Toolmaker Named Dahlia
After making his rounds and checking on his men, Grato finally allowed himself to sit down on a waterproof cloth near the campfire.
The vice-captain, who had initially been with him, was now some distance away, chatting amiably with a man from the Rossetti Company. Perhaps they actually got along better than expected.
“Captain Grato, here you go.”
A grizzled knight with streaks of white in his hair offered him a skewer of black bread.
A rich aroma of cheese wafted upward, enveloping the space between them.
When Grato dipped the bread into the milky-white liquid simmering in the pot, the saltiness combined with the cheese to create an indescribably satisfying flavor.
In the frying pan beside the pot, ham and egg was being cooked.
Smoked bacon had its own appeal, but the simple combination of cheap ham and a sunny-side-up egg, seasoned with salt and spices, tasted almost absurdly good.
The head of the Rossetti Company had apparently created something called an “egg case” using desert worm shells just the day before this trial expedition. It had anti-rot enchantments and was brought along for the trip.
Though she was invited today to explain the expedition stove, the very first thing she excitedly talked about was chicken eggs.
“This egg case is light and folds up, too!” she had said with childlike enthusiasm—and Grato couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.
He had never even considered bringing fragile chicken eggs on an expedition.
But with their current squad, they could afford to add one more wagon. Depending on the destination, they could even procure eggs from villages along the way. It was worth considering for future expeditions.
As he savored how far expedition meals had come, the wine from his leather pouch settled warmly in his gut.
Before he realized it, the knight beside him had lowered his gaze and was quietly sipping wine as well.
When the two of them had first joined the unit, the older veterans often shared stories.
Back then, they said, even water wasn’t freely available.
One comrade had fallen into a ravine and died while desperately searching for water to quench his thirst.
Another had collapsed from heatstroke on the way back from a long expedition.
It was only after stable supplies of water magic stones were secured that they finally stopped suffering from water shortages. The veterans would speak of it with solemn reverence.
Yet even after Grato and his fellow knight became “the veterans,” conditions remained poor.
Comrades fell ill from unfit meals, extreme heat and cold, and many left the squad altogether.
There were too few mages and priests to accompany expeditions. He still remembered the pain of bidding farewell to comrades at the expedition site—at times with tears in his eyes, others with clenched jaws.
Mages, after all, had to fight too. If resources were stretched thin, one couldn’t expect water or fire spells for comfort.
Warm meals. Peaceful sleep. A dry body after being soaked—things that were commonplace in daily life were distant luxuries on an expedition.
Even when the previous captain requested better conditions, the response had been lukewarm at best.
Instead, people kept loudly repeating grievances about an embezzlement scandal from several generations ago and the damage caused by a monster that had once escaped capture.
After becoming captain, Grato had mobilized the full authority of the marquess’s household. He secured more food, increased the number of mages and priests, and ensured they had enough horses and wagons for expeditions.
He fought tooth and nail in every meeting to gain as many resources and personnel as he could.
And indeed, the number of deaths and injuries during monster subjugations had dropped compared to before.
Even the king had commended him. The nobility’s opinion of Grato had improved as well.
Yet... he didn’t feel happy.
After all, it wasn’t as though they had eliminated casualties entirely.
Every time he attended a subordinate’s funeral as commander of the Monster Subjugation Force, he felt the urge to punch himself.
Monsters too were fighting for survival.
It was a life-and-death struggle between humans and monsters. It was unrealistic to think only humans could come away unscathed.
He could still accept the loss of a life in battle with a monster if it was in the line of duty, as a knight.
But when someone died because of lack of water, food, sleep, or because their concentration failed due to heat or cold—that, that was too bitter a pill to swallow.
He had always turned his anger at not having been able to improve their living conditions towards himself..
There were times during expeditions when his stomach gave out and he vomited blood. Times when he took off his helmet and clumps of hair came away with it.
Every letter he wrote to a grieving family left crescent-shaped wounds in his palms—his own fingernails digging deep enough to draw blood.
Those were days spent crawling through the dusk of a perpetually overcast sky, with no light at the end in sight.
At some point, something had changed.
Thanks to waterproof tents, they could now rest without worrying about the rain.
Sleeping on the waterproof cloth meant moisture didn’t seep in from the ground. Clothes stayed dry, and their bodies didn't grow cold from the damp.
The waterproof wagon covers made rainy-day travel easier. They were invaluable for transporting the sick or wounded. Supplies and rations no longer spoiled from water exposure.
Raincoats sped up the march, even in bad weather, allowing them to cover greater distances. Fewer and fewer soldiers fell ill from being soaked to the bone.
The five-toed socks still made him chuckle every time he put them on.
But the maddening itch between his toes had vanished, and now he could brace his feet more firmly when swinging his sword.
The sticky discomfort in his boots had disappeared thanks to the new insoles. Whether on rainy days or under the summer sun, his feet stayed dry and smooth.
Not having to always be conscious of the condition of your feet—how much sharper your focus becomes when you don’t even need to think about them. Only someone who's marched long over treacherous terrain would understand just how much that meant.
And now, wrapped around his neck, was the Auratello.
Next summer, he wouldn't feel like a waterfall was pouring down his back beneath his armor. Sleepless nights from oppressive heat might finally lessen.
The one who secured the budget for that Auratello was his old friend, long estranged.
The wine they drank together after so long apart was so good they stayed up ‘til morning. His wife had scolded him for it.
The one who made all of this possible—who gave them all these tools and reconnected him with his friend—was a young magical toolmaker.
It struck him as almost impossibly strange. He lowered the wineskin, overwhelmed.
Above them, a strong river breeze swept away the last heat of summer beneath a clear blue sky.
Even so, the little portable magic stove before him gave off unwavering heat. Only the steam from the vegetable soup danced away with the wind.
Then, a subtle change made Grato prick up his ears.
The sounds were different from the usual expedition.
The laughter of the younger soldiers was higher-pitched, light and unburdened. Others were chatting quietly, relaxed. Men were clinking their leather flasks together as if toasting.
It was a gentle, murmuring chorus—and something stung behind his eyes.
"During an expedition, everything is a battle. There's no such thing as time to live."
That’s what the previous monster subjugation commander had once told him.
But here, his men truly were living.
Even if not quite to this extent, from the next expedition on, he could give them back some of that time to be alive.
“Captain Grato, would you like a bone-in sausage?”
“...Yeah, I’ll have some.”
Caught off guard by the woman’s voice, he hastily wiped away the tears welling in his eyes.
Before him stood Dahlia, together with Volf, each carrying plates of food.
“Um... did it not suit your taste?”
“No, it was excellent. The smoke just... got in my eyes a little.”
“Oh no! I knew I should’ve reduced the smoke output—I'll make improvements right away.”
“Don’t worry about it. That smoke’s from the other campfire.”
Dahlia visibly relaxed at his words, smiling without a hint of pretense.
Volf, already at the stove, had begun grilling the sausages. His hands moved with practiced ease.
“You can make quite a variety of dishes with just this one stove.”
“I’m actually compiling additional recipes now. For expeditions, shorter cooking times are probably better, right?”
“Yeah. And if it pairs well with a drink, that’s even better.”
“In that case, I’ll work on more dishes suited for drinking. Oh—and ones that keep longer, too...”
Watching her seriously mull it over right in front of him, Grato couldn’t help but laugh, tears forgotten.
The firepit was a fair distance away. There was no way smoke had reached them here.
And yet she’d taken his excuse at face value and earnestly started thinking of how to improve things.
Maybe she should learn a bit of suspicion, or at least be a little more calculating.
He worried, sometimes, about how straightforward and relentlessly sincere she was.
This magical Toolmaker named Dahlia.
With hair the color of a red sunrise, and eyes green as a fresh spring forest.
She stood tall and unshaken, leaning on no one, always striving to save whatever she could reach.
Yes... she was, without a doubt, a midsummer bloom blooming in full glory.
She had brought light to a heart lost in overcast confusion, like the return of the blue sky.
“...I’ll be counting on you from now on, Lady Magical Toolmaker of the Monster Subjugation Force.”
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