Respects after the Rain

By afternoon, the light rain that had fallen all morning had cleared away. In the northeastern part of the royal capital, beyond the temple, lay a vast graveyard surrounded by trees and gray brick walls. Almost everyone who lived in the city, regardless of whether they were nobles or commoners, rich or poor, would be interred here upon their death. The graveyard was managed by the temple, but entry wasn’t restricted to believers. Use of the public cemetery was practically free. This was to prevent unattended bodies from causing disease or turning into undead, Dahlia had heard.

The carriage pulled into the parking area, and Dahlia stepped down onto the flagstones. The earlier rain had left them somewhat slippery underfoot. Since Volf’s boots had better grip, he had insisted on carrying all the baggage, aside from the bouquets of flowers. He was once again dressed in his black uniform and wore his fairy glass spectacles. On his back, he carried what appeared to be a sword wrapped in blue cloth, while in his hands, he held two bundles containing drinks and glasses. Dahlia held two small bouquets—one white and one red.

Last night, as the two of them said goodbye, Volf had asked Dahlia about her plans for today. She’d told him she would be visiting her father’s grave. As it turned out, the anniversary of his mother’s death was drawing close, and he had already ordered some flowers. Out of politeness, she initially refused his offer of sharing a carriage, but he reminded her that they both had to go to the Merchants’ Guild that afternoon anyway, so she eventually agreed.

All visitors entered the graveyard through the same tall, white gate. Beyond it, the path split two ways: right for commoners and left for nobles. The Scalfarotto family grave would, of course, be found in the nobles’ section. Although both Dahlia’s father and grandfather had been honorary barons, their plot was with the commoners.

“We go different ways here. My family’s grave is in that section.”

Dahlia made to take the items Volf had been carrying for her, but without any hesitation, he began to walk toward the commoners’ section.

“Let’s go together,” he said. “I’ll say a prayer at your family’s grave too, and then we can go to mine.”

“Huh?”

Dahlia stared at him, frozen stiff for a moment before she quickly averted her eyes.

“Dahlia? Is something wrong?”

“I-It’s just, er...we commoners only visit another family’s grave when we’re with someone very special—a partner we’ve vowed to spend our life with. Going to each other’s family graves to offer prayers is something we do after getting engaged or married, so...someone might misunderstand, you see.”

“I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s all right! I know you didn’t mean anything by it!” Dahlia exclaimed rather more frantically than she’d meant to.

“Well, if you’re sure...”

Volf’s eyes became oddly distant. The difference in customs between nobles and commoners had a way of throwing up a high wall between the two sometimes. Both of them must have felt keenly aware of it in the awkward silence that fell over them. In a halting exchange, Volf and Dahlia arranged to meet back at the carriage before going their separate ways.

The Scalfarotto family grave was located at the far end of the nobles’ section. Having originally been built for a viscount, the grave was not particularly large. Even so, it was far grander than any commoner’s place of rest, with six stone steps leading up to its high altar. Volf approached the two gravestones that stood there like pillars of ivory. Already lying before them was a fresh bouquet of white lilies, wet from the rain. Volf placed his own flowers gently beside it. On the low table in front of the grave, he laid down a handkerchief and a glass that he filled with white wine. Then he removed his enchanted glasses and activated his anti-eavesdropping device.

“It’s good to see you, Mother. I’m sorry it’s been so long.” Volf had never once spoken to the grave before. For some reason, the urge struck him today. “I spoke with Guido a few days ago. I learned that Father’s been visiting you as well. I’ve...been such a child. If only you could speak to me, I’m sure you’d give me the scolding I deserve.”

Until now, he’d convinced himself that he’d mourned her all alone—that no one else in the world would shed a tear for her. Afraid of one day suffering the same pain again, he’d distanced himself from everyone and shirked his responsibilities. Although in theory he’d long since become a man, on the inside, he’d changed little from the frightened young boy he’d been that day. Now, at long last, he was ready to grow up and stop running away.

Last night, during his conversation with Dahlia, Volf had seen deep, deep pain in her eyes. That young woman who always seemed so strong had revealed to him a scared and fragile side of herself. It was a side he wanted no one else to see.

“I’ve made a friend. Someone I want to protect.” The words fell quietly from his lips, like drops of rain. “She saved me when I was lost. She crafted a magical item to protect me. Soon, she might create the most amazing magical sword. I’ve been nothing but a burden to her so far, but one day, I want to be strong enough that I can protect her from anything. That’s why I need the strength to defeat you, Mother.”

When Volf was a child, his mother had asked him, “Volf, what sort of knight do you want to become?” He’d always thought she was asking about his fighting style—whether he preferred to fight offensively or defensively, whether his focus was on power or speed. Now, however, he realized it might have been deeper than that.

“I know it’s taken a long time, but I finally know what kind of knight I want to become. I want to be a man who can protect those dear to him. It may not be the answer of a real knight, but that’s my wish.”

The sword wrapped in dark-blue cloth that Volf had brought with him was his mother’s—it was the sword she had wielded in her final moments. It had been almost falling apart, the blade broken, but it had now been lovingly repaired and kept safe for a while in his mother’s armory. Without removing its cloth, Volf turned toward the grave and reverently offered up the sword. It was said that a knight who died protecting someone could offer divine protection to the loved ones they left behind. Whether it was a mere myth that only existed in this kingdom or just a way to comfort the bereaved, Volf couldn’t be sure. But if there was even the smallest possibility that it were true, there was a wish Volf had to make.

“I’ll fight with my own strength. If it’s within your power, I beg that you grant your protection not to me, but to my friend. To Dahlia.”

Volf closed his golden eyes, remaining for a long while before the grave as he prayed.

Washed clean by the morning’s rain, the gravestones shone brightly, as though they were brand new. Dahlia stopped in a corner along a row of nearly identical light-gray pillars. Here was the small grave where her father and grandfather had been laid to rest. The stone pillar was about as thick as the palm of her hand. Someone must have come here recently to offer a prayer—a small bottle of her father’s favorite liquor had been left before the grave.

In this city, almost everyone was cremated after death and their ashes returned to the earth beneath their gravestone. The day after she had entrusted her father’s casket to the temple, a priest had returned to her the pure-white ashes in a glass box. There had been barely more than a handful. She had removed the thin stone slab before the gravestone and gently scattered the ashes in. A slight breeze had picked up a few of them then, and she hadn’t known what to do.

It had been a month and a half since Dahlia had last visited her father’s grave. If she had gone through with her marriage to Tobias, the two of them would’ve come here on that day. With her engagement being broken off, meeting a new friend, starting her own company, and visiting the castle, life had been an utter whirlwind ever since. After laying her bouquet of red flowers, she poured two glasses of the red wine she’d brought with her and placed one before the grave. Holding the other in her hand, she gently touched them together.

“It’s all over between Tobias and me, Father. But if you saw why, then I’m sure you’re not angry with me.”

In fairness, if anyone deserved her father’s wrath, it was Tobias, but if he saw how she was doing now, she was sure he’d just laugh it off. “Ah well, no harm done,” she could hear him say. “Good for you.”

“I’ve founded the Rossetti Trading Company. Ivano’s going to join me. He’s been very helpful. Oh, and I went to the castle yesterday. I’m afraid the company’s first products are going to be toe socks and insoles, of all things, but everyone seems very happy with them. Actually, the very first ones were meant for you. It’s funny, isn’t it?”

Dahlia tilted her glass a bit, speaking softly.

“I never knew you had such a knack for putting people in your debt. There’s Lord Jedda, Gabriella, Oswald...and probably others I don’t know about.”

Those three were no less than the guildmaster and vice-guildmaster of the Merchants’ Guild and the owner of a famous magical tool shop, the Goddess’s Right Eye. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that her father would leave those people with a debt of gratitude to be settled with her, his daughter. Leave it to you to still be fussing over me from beyond the grave.

“You were always so sloppy and careless around the house, but the whole time you were doing these amazing things in secret. That wasn’t fair, you know.”

Dahlia turned toward the grave with a pout. She could see the wry smile her father would have given her if he’d been standing there.

“Still... Thank you, Father,” she whispered, reaching out to lightly touch the gravestone.

A single clear droplet fell and landed beside the wine glass. It had been one year since her father’s death. In truth, it was only recently that she’d properly come to terms with it. For a long time after his passing, she’d lived in a kind of daze. Nothing had felt real anymore. After that, she had simply locked her grief away and thought only of carrying on as normal. She changed herself, stifling all her individuality for the sake of becoming her former fiancé’s ideal wife. And in the end, he left her anyway. Even in his grave, her father must have had little rest, worrying about his daughter.

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but we can’t go on like this. At this rate, I’ll never truly grow up. I’ll never be anything but your little girl.”

Since she was a child, Dahlia had never been able to imagine surpassing her father as a magical toolmaker. His magical power, technical skill, planning ability, and knowledge of magical toolmaking had always seemed impossibly far beyond her own. At some point, she’d made peace with the idea of walking in his shadow—and her fiancé’s—in order to lead a quiet life. Perhaps it was the loneliness and terror of how she’d died in her previous world, exhausted to the point of death with no one by her side, that pushed her to think this way. However, since her engagement had been broken off and she’d promised herself not to meekly hang her head any longer, she’d changed a great deal.

She still loved her father. Since his passing, she had learned anew just how much he’d loved and cherished her. As his daughter and as a magical toolmaker, she was eternally grateful for how lovingly he had raised her. Even so, she knew now that she couldn’t continue walking in his shadow or relying on him to protect her. Yes, she was afraid. She was uneasy. She was unsure. But until she walked on her own two feet down a path of her own choosing, she couldn’t call herself a grown woman. Until I’m grown, you’ll never be truly at peace.

“Right now, my magical power and my skills are still nowhere near where they need to be. I don’t know how many years it’ll take to get them there, but still...” Dahlia raised her eyes and gazed unflinchingly at the gravestone as she confidently declared, “Father, I want to be an even greater toolmaker than you were.”

When she recalled his strong, broad back and the powerful, scintillating magic that flowed like rivers from his fingertips, it seemed like a hopeless dream. So many of the ideas Dahlia was praised for only came to her through the memories of her past life. There was still so much she didn’t know about her craft, and her skills couldn’t yet hope to rival her father’s. Nonetheless, surpassing her father’s legacy seemed a fine goal to dedicate her life to.

“I’ve made a great friend who supports me. I’m not alone. Whatever happens, I’ll be all right.”

Dahlia turned a radiant smile on the gravestone. She knew that her dear friend Volf would do anything to support her in her work. He wasn’t the only one; Irma, Marcello, Gabriella, Dominic, and many others were also ready and willing to lend her a hand should she need it. It was thanks to them that she made it this far without losing heart or faltering in her conviction. She had her share of worries and hurdles to overcome, but she also had the strength to face them each day with a smile on her face. Thus, she wanted her father to be at peace and not worry about her any longer. She wasn’t his “little Dahlia” anymore. If she stumbled, she could pick herself back up on her own now.

“Someday, I’m going to be twice the toolmaker you were, Father. You’ll see.”

As Dahlia raised her glass up to the height of the tombstone, it caught a brilliant reflection. Upon its surface glowed the seven colors of a rainbow arching across the sky above.