Chapter 145 - Summer Festival and Kraken Tape
There was no moon in tonight’s sky—only a vast sea of stars stretching endlessly above.
On the rooftop of the Green Tower, Dahlia gazed toward the skies over the royal castle.
To her right sat Volf, and to her left, Irma and Marcella, all seated together on a waterproof cloth.
On the table before them lay tankards of ale and a spread of dishes, though in the darkness, the details were hard to make out.
It was the summer festival of the Kingdom of Ordine.
The calendar here had twelve months, each with thirty days. In addition to these, there were two extra days outside the calendar—one for the summer festival and one for the winter festival.
However, “summer festival” here did not mean parading shrines or dancing in the streets.
At the church, there would be prayers for an abundant autumn harvest, but only some nobles attended such rites.
For commoners, it was a lighthearted occasion—taking a day off to relax, enjoying slightly better food than usual, shopping, or strolling through street stalls.
For restaurants, food vendors, and shops, it was the busiest time of the year.
Dahlia herself had gone out with Irma to the shopping district earlier that day, buying two long-sleeved shirts in preparation for autumn.
In the days before and after the summer or winter festivals, many people took turns taking time off.
Both the Rossetti Company and Irma’s salon had closed for the days before and after the festival.
Guards, knights, and the Courier Guild, however, rotated their shifts to cover the period.
Because of this, Volf and Marcella had worked until evening and had only just arrived at the tower.
At this hour during the summer festival, many people kept their eyes on the sky in the direction of the royal castle.
Some watched from shopfronts, others climbed onto rooftops, and some simply looked up from the streets.
They were all waiting for the same thing—the fireworks sponsored by the royal castle.
In her previous life, fireworks had existed as well, but in this life, they were of a different kind.
Here, fireworks were not launched with gunpowder, but with the fire magic of mages.
“Looks like it’s about to start...”
At Volf’s words, spoken with an ear cocked toward the distance, a small red light rose into the sky above the royal castle.
The castle was far from the tower, so it was hard to make out the shapes of the fireworks.
Even so, the red light glowed brighter than the stars, coloring the night sky. That such a display came from magic alone spoke of immense mana.
Deep crimson, a reddish hue close to orange, and wine red—several shades of red burst one after another before blue and green lights joined the mix.
Whether the mages were conjuring blue and green flames directly or using some trick to change the colors, Dahlia could not tell.
The red, blue, and green lights split into six each, then branched again into two, stretching outward.
There was no sound, yet she couldn’t help but imagine the booming of the fireworks from her past life.
After a short pause, several red streaks darted across the sky, forming the outline of a red dragon.
It was the work of high-ranking mages weaving fire magic. From the royal castle or the central district, the dragon must have looked enormous and magnificent.
From the tower, the shape was a little uneven, but even so, its size was awe-inspiring.
Cheers erupted from houses all around.
Once the red dragon’s outline vanished completely, the surroundings fell suddenly quiet.
The four of them on the rooftop straightened their backs in silence.
After a longer pause, a white orb of light began to rise slowly into the sky.
Higher and higher it climbed, as if it would reach the ends of the heavens, until it flared like a shooting star and filled the sky with pure white light.
The brightness was so dazzling that Dahlia instinctively closed her eyes, and all around her, great cheers rang out.
The light, like a miniature sun, was the king’s own magic.
The current king was said to have the greatest mana capacity in generations and was known as “the one who can cast the sun.”
It was probably a form of fire magic, but just how hot and powerful that pure white flame was—Dahlia could only imagine.
The king, whose power rivaled that of legendary archmages from fairy tales, was revered and admired by his people, but feared by foreign nations.
The first king was said to have single-handedly swept away monsters and leveled the land where the capital now stood, and perhaps that legend was not so far from the truth.
“Every year I think the same thing—it’s just like the sun. My eyes are still stinging from the whiteness.”
“The king really is amazing.”
Dahlia nodded to Marcella and Irma’s words as she lit the magic lamp, still feeling the lingering glare.
She had never seen the king in person, but he was said to have hair as golden as the sun and eyes as dark as the night.
Not only had he enormous mana, but his governance was praised as well, making him immensely popular within the kingdom.
Merchants, ever resourceful, had even made various portraits of him—always keeping the colors true, yet each depicting a different kind of handsome man.
“Well then, let’s have a toast. To the Kingdom of Ordine!”
“To King Ordine!”
From here on, the summer festival truly began for Dahlia and her companions—endless eating, endless drinking.
With black ale in one hand and white ale in the other, they each held a crespelle bought from a food stall.
A crespelle was like a slightly thicker crepe, filled with various ingredients and sauces, then wrapped neatly into a square.
They had bought three varieties—ground pork with vegetables, cheese with ham, and a seafood mix.
She had eaten them with Volf before, and among food stall fare, they were one of the easiest and tastiest options.
This year’s crespelle were generously stuffed, hearty, and satisfying—it seemed they had found a particularly good stall this time.
“I’ll get this batch going.”
On the grate of a compact magic stove, Dahlia began grilling skewers of chicken she had prepared earlier.
Not just thigh and breast meat—she had also included skin, cartilage, hearts, and gizzards, since they were Marcella’s favorites.
Each had already been liberally coated with sauce.
One was a salty blend made from salt, garlic, and scallion oil; the other, a thick sweet glaze made from fish sauce, liquor, and honey boiled down together.
The aggressive, mouthwatering aroma of chicken fat and sauce charring over the heat was far too much to ever attempt indoors.
As she grilled, the other three began fidgeting in anticipation.
“This one’s cartilage, right?”
“Yes. Volf, do you like cartilage?”
That surprised her a little.
She had thought nobles rarely ate offal or similar cuts. Did Volf’s regular haunts serve such things?
“Thigh meat’s my favorite, but cartilage is fun to chew. Marcella and I had some the other day.”
“We went around the lower town food stalls, then stopped by a standing bar.”
“We tried every drink on the menu that we’d never heard of before.”
“I swear one of them was just leftover alcohol all mixed together. The taste was... unforgettable.”
It seemed the two men had thoroughly enjoyed a night of drinking in the lower district.
If she had been a man, perhaps she could have joined in on that sort of pub crawl too. Seeing their carefree smiles made her just a little envious.
As she sipped her white ale and turned the skewers, the conversation drifted back to the fireworks from earlier.
“Volf, those are all done by mages, right? Are there a lot of fire mages in the castle?”
“There are a fair number. Plenty of them can use composite magic too.”
“But the king is still the most impressive, isn’t he? I wonder how much mana he has.”
“The strongest among my classmates at the academy had a mana score of seventeen, so I’d guess the king’s over twenty. But I’ve never actually heard his mana stated as a number.”
At the High Academy, they said anyone with over nine could aim to become a mage, and over thirteen could aim to be a high mage.
Even so, Dahlia wasn’t sure mana was always better the more one had.
In fact, since her own mana had increased by one level recently, she had found it harder to work with kraken tape.
Kraken tape was a material that could be used for packing and wrapping by passing a small amount of mana through it. But if the mana was too strong, it went limp and sticky just from being held, clinging to fingers and hands.
“...The king probably couldn’t stick kraken tape at all.”
Her casual remark made Irma choke violently, while Volf and Marcella could only chuckle.
“I can’t imagine the king and kraken tape being compatible in any way...”
“Why bring up kraken tape all of a sudden? Don’t tell me you’ve got a live slime in the tower again?”
“Not at the moment.”
Dahlia answered honestly, but Irma gave her a suspicious, narrow-eyed look.
Irma disliked slimes.
Once, when Dahlia had been drying as many as she could both indoors and in the garden, Irma had let out a spectacular scream.
“It doesn’t really matter how much mana you have. Sometimes you have it and don’t use it at all.”
“Right, with that much mana, what would you even use it for?”
“Emergency lighting during a disaster?”
“Dahlia... that might be considered a little disrespectful.”
By the time their chatter wound down, the skewers had cooked to perfection.
Everyone took what they liked and began eating, watching the townscape and night sky as they did.
Dahlia’s first pick was a sweet-glazed thigh skewer.
It was a little over-charred, but the smell was wonderful. Ignoring perfect manners, she bit off the largest piece at the tip in one go.
Juicy meat dripped with rich sauce, and the faint bitterness of the char joined in as she chewed—delicious.
While she was inwardly congratulating herself on how well it had turned out, she noticed Volf with his eyes closed, chewing intently. It seemed he had started with the salty skewers.
Since the cartilage and gizzards had just finished cooking, she quietly slipped them onto his plate.
On the other side of the table, Marcella, with his black ale and salty sauce, and Irma, with her white ale and sweet sauce, had been engaged in a serious debate over which tasted better, and which pairing worked best.
Personally, Dahlia thought it was fine to just eat both without deciding a winner, but since it might have been a form of marital bonding, she decided to leave them to it.
After that, a considerable amount of ale and an endless procession of skewered grilled chicken found their way into the stomachs of all four of them.
“Marcella—sorry, I’m done, I can’t!”
“Honestly... you...”
By the time they were leaving, Irma—whether from drinking too much or eating too much—could no longer make it down the stairs.
Smiling as he said he had no choice, Marcella scooped her up in his arms and carried her.
Dahlia had tried to call a carriage to the tower to take them back, but he waved her off, saying, “It’s just a light load; I’ll carry her to the carriage terminal myself,” and left.
After seeing them off, Dahlia and Volf went back up to the rooftop once more.
With practiced ease, Volf rolled up the waterproof cloth they had laid out.
There wasn’t much to clean tonight; all that remained was to have him carry the table, and the work would be done.
Gathering the wrappers from the crespelle into a single bundle, Dahlia suddenly found herself wondering what she had done during last year’s summer festival.
Her father hadn’t been gone for long back then, so she was certain she had visited his grave.
But she could not recall seeing any fireworks, nor could she remember what she had eaten or drunk.
“Let’s drink like this again next year.”
The unexpected words from Volf made her heart skip a beat.
After a moment’s thought, she decided to ask him:
“Shall I book the tower for next year?”
“I would be most honored if you would.”
Volf had abruptly switched to formal speech and bowed deeply, prompting Dahlia to return the gesture with equal seriousness.
When they straightened, they couldn’t hold back their laughter.
“How about one more drink? It is the summer festival, after all.”
“Thank you.”
As he smiled warmly, Dahlia thought to herself—
She couldn’t know if that reservation for next year would truly hold.
Volf might be called away on an expedition, or something else could come up.
Visiting the tower might become far more difficult once his family rises to the rank of marquis.
Even so, there was one thing Dalia knew for certain—
This year’s summer festival, she would remember.
Next year’s self would not forget it, the way she had forgotten last year’s.
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