A Knight from the Beast Hunters

The next morning, Dahlia set off to gather materials in the forest outside the royal capital. Her plans weren’t ambitious—she only intended to gather some stones and sand close to the highway. She wasn’t expecting to find any treasure. The thought of Tobias turning up again prevented her from getting settled in the tower; she didn’t need any acquaintances quizzing her about the breakup either. She was unlikely to meet anyone out in the forest, and a day in the fresh air and quiet would be a nice change of scenery.

Since she would be going alone, she had decided to splurge a little on a sturdy, enclosed carriage with metal doors drawn by a specially trained sleipnir. The rental fee was understandably high, but sleipnirs were extremely useful travel companions, able to fend off any attacking marauders or smaller monsters with a single kick. The carriage featured a door behind the driver’s seat that allowed you to quickly hide inside. Then, all you had to do was blow the whistle kept inside the carriage, and the sleipnir would draw you back to the city, even without anyone at the reins. You couldn’t ask for a better escort. When she’d gone to book the carriage, there had just been a cancellation, and she’d grabbed the opportunity without hesitation.

The sky above was clear and beautifully blue. The birds sang, their melodies blending into one another, while the trees swayed gently in the breeze. The road into the forest was a little rocky in places, but in decent condition otherwise, and more than wide enough for the carriage. Dahlia felt her decision had been well worth it. She had driven the sleipnir very cautiously at first, but the animal was no trouble whatsoever. So smooth and comfortable was the journey that it almost felt as though it sensed her apprehension and was trying to put her at ease.

From what she had been told, it was very rare for monsters to appear in the area. Even so, she had prepared for the worst, just as her father had always taught her to. In her coat pocket, she had special magic crystals that could be thrown at monsters to repel them, and she had put on some protective clothing. These measures would be just as effective against human attackers too.

After glancing around to check that the coast was clear, Dahlia took out a bottle of white wine from her bag and brought it straight to her lips. She took several gulps before letting out a hearty sigh of satisfaction. Although she knew it was an extremely unladylike way to drink, she had always wanted to try it. She hadn’t realized how much stress she’d piled up over the last few days. Only now did she feel like she could finally breathe easy.

If she continued a little farther down this road, she would reach a river flanked by wide, flat pebble beaches. She’d collect some stones there, then perhaps take an early lunch while enjoying a pleasant view of the river. But no sooner had she had this thought than a flock of birds in the trees nearby screeched and took off all at once. The sleipnir whinnied and stopped in its tracks, lifting its foremost right leg as it stared into the trees. The gesture suggested wariness. There was a loud rustling from deep in the thicket on the right-hand side of the road. It wasn’t some little bird or rabbit making that noise; it was a much larger animal, or perhaps even a monster. Dahlia gripped one of her throwing crystals tightly in her hand.

“A road...finally...” croaked a raspy voice. A moment later, its owner stumbled out of the bushes. They were human, and they were covered from head to toe in blood.

“A-Are you all right?!”

“Water... Please...” the man begged, kneeling on all fours. His voice was so hoarse that he could barely form words.

Dahlia hurriedly grabbed her waterskin from the carriage and brought it to him.

“Drink this!”

The man bowed his head in thanks as he took the water, gulping the entire contents down without even pausing for breath.

“You’re a...lifesaver. Thank you...”

He promptly collapsed on the ground. His armor’s breastplate was intact, but the shoulder and back pieces had been ripped apart. The clothes he wore underneath were also in tatters, and there were several horribly deep gouges in his left shoulder and upper arm. His entire body was drenched in crimson.

“Are you okay?! What happened to you?!”

“I’ll be fine... It’s mostly...monster blood. Got separated from the others...on the mountain. Been walking...two days...”

He managed to lift an arm to point up at the peak of a snow-capped mountain. All Dahlia could think was that he was incredibly lucky to be alive. He’d mentioned others, so perhaps they were a party of adventurers.

“Wait there a moment.” Dahlia ran back to the carriage and retrieved a potion, pouring it into a wooden cup. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

The man accepted the cup and took a mouthful. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Is this...a potion?!”

“Yes. I’ve opened it now, so please drink it all down.”

Potions didn’t keep for long once unsealed. If he’d known what it was, he might have tried to refuse—that was why she’d poured it into a cup. One bottle of this potion cost five gilt silver (about fifty thousand yen, in Dahlia’s estimation). Rather expensive for a bottle of medicine, you might think, but its effectiveness in healing wounds made it worth every coin. You couldn’t put a price on a life, after all.

“I’m so sorry. I promise to repay you once we return to the capital.”

He bowed his head in thanks before swallowing the rest of the contents. As he took several deep breaths, the wounds in his upper arm began to close before Dahlia’s eyes, as though time were turning back. It was an extraordinary sight.

“I cannot thank you enough. I feel so much better.”

While there was certainly much more life in his voice, with all that blood covering his face, it was impossible to tell whether his color had improved or not.

“Forgive me, I haven’t yet introduced myself. My name is Volfred, and I am a knight of the Order of Beast Hunters. I am but the youngest son of a minor noble, so please, call me Volf.”

Not only a knight, but a Beast Hunter at that.

All kinds of monsters roamed this world. They were generally hunted by adventurers, who made a living by selling the meat, skins, bones, and so on through the Adventurers’ Guild. However, when they began to pose a threat to human settlements—such as when their numbers grew too large, or an especially strong or large monster was discovered—then the royal Order of Beast Hunters was dispatched.

Attacks from packs of monsters, or larger-than-normal ones, were simply thought of as another kind of natural disaster in this world. It went without saying that taking on these ferocious beasts wasn’t for the faint of heart; the Beast Hunters’ ranks included many of the kingdom’s most formidable warriors.

“I’m...Dali. Just a citizen. I’m a jack-of-all-trades.”

Dahlia deliberately cut her name short to make it sound more like a man’s. She had draped her father’s coat loosely around herself today, and she wore a black hat that completely hid her hair, her black-rimmed glasses, a special choker that lowered her voice, and a gauze scarf around her neck.

It was just a precaution. A woman on her own in the forest had to be vigilant. Among nobles, it was common practice for men to avoid sharing a carriage with single women. Dahlia decided it best not to reveal her gender to the knight. Her priority for the moment was to get him back to the capital, and quickly.

“I’m terribly sorry to trouble you, Dali, but if you’re heading in the direction of the capital, may I ride with you? I’ll see that you’re repaid as soon as we reach the castle.”

“Of course. Please, climb on.”

“Thank you very much. I’m in your debt.”

Volf blinked several times and then rubbed his light-brownish eyes. Upon closer inspection, Dahlia could see that the whites of his eyes looked very bloodshot.

“Um, do your eyes hurt?”

“They’ve been like this since that beast’s blood got into them.”

The fact that the potion hadn’t healed his eyes meant that they weren’t injured; more likely, it was some kind of poison in the blood, or an infection. The blood covering his face must have been running into his eyes.

“You’d better wash them as soon as possible. I’ve heard of monsters causing blindness before.”

“It’d be twelve gold at the temple to have that healed. I would rather avoid it.”

There were doctors in this world, but serious injuries were generally treated by temple priests. Treatment wasn’t free; the cost increased with the severity of the condition, but if you could afford it, there was very little that couldn’t be cured.

“There’s a river nearby. Would you like to wash there?”

“Yes, please.”

When Volf stood up, Dahlia finally became aware of his considerable height. He looked rather slim, but that was likely just because he was so tall—around a hundred and ninety centimeters, Dahlia guessed.

“I’m sorry it’s a little cramped, but here, come sit beside me.”

Dahlia moved over to free up half of the driver’s seat.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to dirty the seat. I can walk to the river.”

“It’s covered in waterproof cloth. No need to worry.”

“Ah, I see. Well then, thank you.”

When the man climbed up onto the carriage, he did his best to squeeze himself into the corner so their clothes wouldn’t touch. Even so, the smell of blood was quite overpowering, and it was accompanied by a whiff of rot. The sooner he washed all this off, the better. Dahlia wished she’d brought some water crystals with her; all she had was the drinking water in her antiseptic waterskin.

“Very useful, this waterproof cloth.”

“You think so?”

No doubt Volf was just making small talk, but Dahlia suddenly felt her heart swell with pride. The inventor of this waterproof cloth was none other than Dahlia herself. She had developed it while still in college.

Vinyl and the like didn’t exist in this world, and she had no way of creating it. She had wanted a water-resistant material in order to make a raincoat for her father. The experiments she’d undertaken to create it had been the first steps toward this waterproof cloth. After much trial and error, she had eventually perfected the method: one side of the material was coated with a mixture of powdered blue slime and a certain chemical, then a fixing spell was applied so the mixture would stay adhered to the cloth. With that, Dahlia’s original waterproof cloth had been complete.

For a while, her roof and garden had been completely taken over with all kinds of slimes hanging out to dry, the floor cluttered with bottles for the powder. The new cloth had sold like hotcakes, to the point that adventurers had almost wiped out the area’s population of blue slimes. If blue slimes had emotions, she was sure they’d bear a hefty grudge toward her.

“When I first joined the knights, we used to paint our tents and cloaks with wax. It was a job they gave the new recruits, and it was quite tough. If you missed any spots, the water would seep through, so they used this thick cloth that could take plenty of wax. But that made it very heavy to carry, of course. Eventually, this new waterproof cloth came in. Much lighter, and no waxing needed.”

“I see. I’m glad it was useful.”

“Makes great raincoats too. Ah, a raincoat’s a kind of cloak with arms made out of that waterproof cloth. Since we started using those, far fewer of us have had problems with heat rash. Before, if it started raining, we had to use leather cloaks, even in the middle of summer.”

“Heat rash, you say?”

Dahlia had never considered that when developing her invention.

“Yes. No matter how itchy you get, you can’t scratch through your armor, and there isn’t much chance to bathe out in the field, you know? It can disturb your concentration, even in the midst of battle, so it’s no laughing matter.”

This was clearly a more serious problem than Dahlia had imagined. There was nothing better than direct feedback from the people using your product to show you where improvements were most needed. The gears had already begun to turn in her head—how could she make the fabric breathable and, if possible, lighter, while maintaining its waterproof properties?

“So, that cloth would be even more useful if it were lighter and more breathable?”

“It would be, if someone could make it that way. Of course, it’s still got to be durable, so I don’t imagine it’d be easy.”

She had to factor in durability too? This was going to take some experimenting, most likely with some new materials. She was getting absorbed in thought when Volf spoke again.

“Please excuse me, talking about myself all this time. Were you out here to do some foraging today?”

“Yes, just seeing what I could find.”

“I’m so sorry for getting in the way of your work.”

“Not at all. I was checking out the area today.”

As they exchanged polite remarks, the river came into view. This wide clearing had long been used as a rest area for travelers. Dahlia found a flat spot to park the carriage, and the two of them climbed down. Volf headed for the river’s shallows and began to wash his eyes and face. It appeared that some of the dried blood was quite stubborn, and it took a lot of splashing and rubbing before the man finally raised his head. Dahlia handed him a towel.

“Here, use this.”

“Thank you.”

He took the towel and dried his face before finally turning to face Dahlia again.

Her breath caught in her throat. His short hair, previously matted with blood and dust, was now a glossy ebony, contrasting his pale, flawless skin. His features were incredibly fine. His nose was long and straight, lips thin and shapely. Within almond-shaped eyes framed by long lashes, his rich golden irises gleamed like pools of whiskey, dotted by pupils as black as midnight.

Even including her previous life, he could easily be the most—or at least second-most—beautiful man Dahlia had ever seen. While she wasn’t attracted to him in the conventional sense, she would have happily hung his portrait somewhere in the tower.

“The smell of blood might attract animals, so I’ll bathe here and wash my clothes while I’m at it,” said Volf, taking off his armor as he waded toward the middle of the river.

At the sound of splashing water, Dahlia promptly turned her back.

Dahlia returned to the carriage, where she prepared some water and grapes for the sleipnir. Sleipnirs were omnivorous, able to eat meat as well as fruits and vegetables. Dahlia had been told it would only need water this afternoon, but a few snacks would put it in a good mood and make it more amenable. According to the stablehand, this one adored grapes, so Dahlia had bought a large bunch.

As soon as it spied the juicy black grapes, the animal’s dark eyes opened wide and it stared at her intently, following her every move. It was quite adorable, really. Not only had it guarded her well today, but it had helped save someone’s life, so she decided to give the sleipnir the whole bunch. When the water and fruit were put down in front of it, it let out a whinny of delight.

After getting what she needed from the carriage, Dahlia set about lighting a campfire on the riverbank. She’d brought along a bundle of firewood and a magical tool for fire-starting, so it took no time at all. Once she’d checked the direction of the wind, she prepared spots for her and Volf to sit across from each other at the fireside. On the other side, a little ways from the fire, she thrust two long sticks into the ground and strung a rope between them. It was a simple clothesline for Volf to dry his clothes on.

While enjoying the tranquil sounds of birdsong and the flowing river, Dahlia began to make lunch. She sliced a round, crusty loaf of bread, topped it with goat cheese, and placed the pieces beside the fire. Next, she skewered some cold sausages on sticks and set them near the flames as well. She had some dried fruit and nuts in a leather bag, but found herself short on dishes. A large leaf she found nearby served well enough as a plate. Luckily, Dahlia had brought more than enough food and wine with her today; neither she nor Volf would have to go short. She made it look as though she had more while trying to give the knight as much as he would accept.

Even in spring, bathing in the river must have been cold, Dahlia thought. She decided to heat the red wine, pouring it into a small pan and stirring in a little honey. Volf emerged from the river just as it was beginning to simmer. Dahlia didn’t dare turn her head, relying on her ears alone as she spoke to him.

“If you’d like, you can hang up your clothes on that rope. You’re welcome to wear that coat there until they’re dry. It may be a little small on you, though; it’s my father’s.”

There was a rustle of fabric behind her, then Volf appeared, clad in the black coat, and sat down beside the fire. The hems were indeed too short for him, but it was all she had to offer.

“I truly am sorry to put you through all this trouble.”

“It’s nothing.”

Dahlia poured the red wine into cups and offered Volf some of the bread and sausages.

“Just some bits and pieces, I’m afraid, but I hope it’s to your liking.”

“Thank you, it looks excellent.”

Realizing the well-born young man would probably be too polite to start first, Dahlia looked away and took a bite of the rye bread. The cheese on top had melted very nicely and was delicious with the hot wine. Being goat’s cheese, it had quite a strong, distinct flavor, but it paired perfectly with the bread. Dahlia picked up one of the sausages, biting in without taking it off the stick. It was bursting with juiciness and exquisitely seasoned—the delicious mix of spices gave every bite a slightly different flavor. These would be ideal for enjoying with a jug of ale.

After a few more bites, Dahlia stole a glance in Volf’s direction to find him digging in with an appreciative smile. It seemed the food was to his taste; she was relieved. Within moments, he’d polished it all off. It felt nice to see someone showing such appreciation for their food.

“I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal so much,” Volf said once they were finished.

If he hadn’t eaten in two days, she wasn’t surprised he felt that way.

The breeze blew gently as the two of them sat for a while, listening to the quiet rushing of the river and the crackle of the campfire. Dahlia poured Volf a second cup of wine. He accepted it with a word of thanks, but she noticed as he drank that he was blinking constantly.

“How are your eyes?”

“They don’t hurt anymore. My vision’s rather blurry in both of them, though.”

“You’d best see a doctor as soon as we get you to the castle.”

“Yes, I certainly will.”

Just then, the breeze began to waft the smoke in a slightly different direction, and Dahlia glanced over at the makeshift clothesline. Thankfully, the smoke wasn’t blowing toward it. Volf’s dark-gray clothes swayed slightly in the breeze. If only she could use air magic, she’d have been able to dry them much faster, but alas, she had no affinity for it. As she looked away again, her gaze fell upon the battered armor lying on the ground. The shoulder pieces were missing, but the breastplate remained, and she now noticed its deep red color. It didn’t appear to be merely blood.

“Sir Volf, you aren’t one of the Scarlet Armors, are you?”

“I am, actually,” he answered, quite casually.

The Scarlet Armors were a famous division within the Order of Beast Hunters. Those who wore the division’s bright-red garb were the first to charge into every battle. The vivid color drew foes’ attention, and these warriors often acted as decoys. Even when the order was overwhelmed in battle and on the retreat, the Scarlet Armors would be hounded to the last. It was a grim statistic, but the members of this division were by far the most likely to die in battle.

“I’m not the strongest, but I’m quick and agile. Diverting the beasts’ attention away from my comrades is what I do best.”

“Oh.”

There was no sense of heroism in his calm smile. Even so, Dahlia was suddenly lost for words. A memory of the day her father died surfaced in her mind. It had been last year, when the leaves on the trees were just a little greener. They’d eaten lunch together just like always, then her father had left for the Merchants’ Guild. By the time the news reached Dahlia that he’d collapsed and she’d rushed to the guild, all that was left of him was a lifeless body. It had all happened so suddenly. One moment they had been talking happily; the next, he was gone. But why was she thinking about this now? As her mind dwelled on the bitter memory, Dahlia cast her eyes down, staring into her cup of wine.

“Wearing this coat reminds me of that craze that was going around last spring.”

“Craze?” Dahlia repeated, taking a sip of her wine.

“Yes. I was in town one day and took my coat off in front of a woman, completely forgetting I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She must have thought I was one of those ‘flashers.’ I thought I’d be arrested.”

“Bfft!” A spray of red wine burst from Dahlia’s lips.

Even in another world, it seemed that the coming of spring brought all sorts of people out of the woodwork—including those types.

“Don’t say things like that when people are drinking!”

“Sorry! It just popped into my head,” the young man laughed with a dazzling smile.

Dahlia’s noble, knightly image of Volf had come clattering down in an instant.

“It always makes people so worried when they hear I’m a Scarlet Armor. I do appreciate the concern, but it’s not as dangerous a job as everyone thinks. You looked so sad just now; I wasn’t sure what to say... Sorry, it was stupid of me.”

“No, no, I overreacted.”

“I’m not great at formality; I hope you don’t mind. You don’t need to be so polite either.”

“Sure.” Dahlia deliberately made her reply a little brusque.

It seemed that absurd story had been his way of trying to make her feel better.

“Tell me, are you interested in magical tools, Dali?”

“I love them. I work with them all the time.”

Caught off guard by the question, Dahlia answered honestly before she could stop herself. Volf looked pleased to have hit the mark. His beautiful golden eyes glittered as he looked back at her.

“All right, then there’s something I want to know: I’ve never seen a civilian with one, but do magical toolmakers ever make swords?”

“I don’t think so,” Dahlia replied. “The closest thing you’ll find is probably something like an enchanted kitchen knife. It’s blacksmiths who make swords, and I think enchanting is usually the work of mages and alchemists.”

In this world, people who engaged in the magical arts could be roughly divided into three categories.

First, there were mages. Dahlia understood them to be like wizards, and they were generally gifted in offensive or restorative magic. The ones who specialized in offensive magic were often recruited into the army or became adventurers. Those whose talents lay in restorative magic might find employment in temples or also become knights or adventurers. There were a few mages who created magical tools, some of them even making a career of it.

Next, there were the alchemists. They excelled in using magic to create all manner of extraordinary items and substances such as potions, rare metals, and golems. Many of them had a knack for enchanting, thus they made magical toolmaking part of their livelihood too.

Finally, there were magical toolmakers. Their work was to skillfully fuse raw materials with magic to create various useful objects. They were generally the ones without an affinity for offensive or restorative magic, or whose magical abilities were relatively weak. Sadly, they weren’t generally afforded the same esteem as mages and alchemists. Even scholars and casual hobbyists could be found crafting magical tools. In short, no one considered it a particularly special occupation.

“What kinds of enchantments would you put on a kitchen knife?”

“The most common one would be an anti-rusting spell. Ah, the self-sharpening one’s very popular too, though. It’d be one of those two.”

“Anti-rusting and self-sharpening, huh? Those’d be useful on swords too.”

“How is your sword enchanted?”

“The swords we use usually have a reinforcing spell on them. Not that it saved mine in the end.”

“Oh, hold on, did you have a sword with you?”

Dahlia suddenly became worried. What if he’d lost it in the forest?

“It snapped off at the hilt when I stabbed the wyvern, so I just left it there.”

“You were hunting a wyvern?”

Wyverns were a fearsome species of dragon. They were infamous for their sharp talons and tough, leathery wings. Dahlia remembered the gruesome gashes she’d seen in Volf’s shoulder—a parting gift from his quarry, no doubt.

“Yeah, a red wyvern. Right after we killed it, another one appeared. We wounded it, then it grabbed me in its claws and flew up into the sky. The mages couldn’t attack in case they hit me; the archers couldn’t shoot either. I’ll be getting an earful once I get back to the castle. I’ll probably need to write a formal apology.”

“Wow... It picked you up in its claws? It’s a miracle you survived.”

“Well, I stabbed it in the belly as hard as I could; it dropped me pretty quick then. It was the fall that worried me more, actually. But I had a strengthening spell on me and the trees broke my fall, so I was all right.”

“Sounds dangerous enough to me.”

“Strengthening spells keep you from getting too bashed up, and we have a great team of healers. We hardly ever lose anyone.”

“Hardly ever” meant it did happen sometimes, Dahlia noted.

“But getting back to what we were talking about—have you ever seen a magical sword, Dali?”

“I saw the Emberblade at the Merchants’ Guild. Nobody could draw it, though, so I’ve only seen the scabbard.”

If there was one item that reminded Dahlia she was living in a world of fantasy, it was these magical swords. Various arms and armor were inhabited by mysterious spirits, holy energy, the souls of departed warriors, and so on. They were immensely more powerful than ordinary arms and often had peculiar magical properties.

The Emberblade had been brought to the Merchants’ Guild some time ago to be sold. The scabbard and grip were both deep red in color and lavishly decorated with gold. Unfortunately, nobody had been able to draw the sword, so Dahlia had never seen the blade itself. It had gone to auction shortly after arriving and eventually sold for an incredible sum—one hundred gold coins. After the uproarious auction, the buyer had been revealed to be a famous adventurer.

“The Emberblade? Wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Have you seen many magical swords?”

“The one I see most often belongs to the captain of the Beast Hunters. It’s called Ash-Hand; anything it pierces burns up in an instant and turns to ash. It’s tied to the captain’s bloodline, so it’s been passed down through his family for generations. It’s one of the most famous swords in the kingdom. The captain’s the only one who can draw it. Anyone else gets burned if they even touch it.”

It sounded to Dahlia like a much more powerful version of the Emberblade. She got the feeling Volf was speaking from experience with that last comment.

“There are two other magical swords in the castle that don’t have owners. No one’s been able to draw them yet. I tried when I became a knight, but they wouldn’t budge.”

“Do you think it’s down to magical affinity? Or maybe some other special quality?”

“From what I’ve been told, the swords in the castle can only be wielded by someone with a pure soul and a strong sense of purpose. I’ve got neither, so it’s no wonder I couldn’t draw them,” Volf chuckled, his air so bright and carefree. “You know, I’ve never seen one myself, but I’ve heard there are swords in other kingdoms that actually speak to you.”

“A talking sword? It’d be good if you were taking a long journey on your own, I suppose. Or if you didn’t have any friends.”

“Dali, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, maybe it could guide you on the road as well!” she added quickly, remembering speaking navigation systems in cars and smartphone maps.

“I think you want a talking map, not a talking sword.”

He had a point. Maybe Volf had an inventor’s mind after all. Feeling mildly curious, Dahlia decided to ask about other objects.

“Are there such things as talking shields or armor?”

“I’ve never heard of a talking shield. It’s possible somebody could have one hidden away somewhere. As for talking armor, well, there’s dullahan. Don’t think I’d want to wear one of those, though.”

“Have you ever seen one before?”

The dullahan, a living suit of armor with no head, was another one of this world’s fantastical denizens. It wasn’t a creature Dahlia would want to meet unexpectedly, but she yearned for a chance to observe one in safety. Just how did they work? What force was it that animated them?

“On one of our missions, we came across one in a cave. It warned us in this terrifying voice, ‘Turn back if you value your life!’ It was quite powerful, too, but we had a high priest traveling with us—he exorcised it. Five minutes and it was all over.”

“Just five minutes? I almost feel sorry for it. But what was it like, the dullahan? Was there anything inside it?”

“It was this big, black suit of armor without a helmet. It carried a longsword. All of it looked very well made. There was nothing inside it, though; it was completely empty. Once the priest had purified it, one of the mages took it back to the castle. They studied the armor and the sword, but they couldn’t find any clue as to how it moved. They were awfully disappointed.”

“I see...”

Dahlia understood the mage’s feelings well. She would’ve loved to discover the dullahan’s secret. Was it driven by some unknowable spiritual force? Did it have some unique way of manipulating magic that was beyond human capabilities? Even if its remains were truly nothing but empty armor and a sword, Dahlia would have given anything for the chance to dismantle them and investigate every inch. She thought it’d be fascinating to discover what they were made from.

“If it were up to me, I’d be happy to show it to you, but...”

She’d gotten lost in her daydreaming again and made him feel awkward. Scolding herself, Dahlia quickly shook her head.

“That’s okay. It’s fascinating just to talk about! It might even give me ideas for my work.”

It was then that she suddenly realized they were forgetting something—Volf’s eyes needed to be attended to as quickly as possible. Now was no time to be sitting around and chatting.

“We’d better get moving; it’s a fair distance to the capital from here,” she urged him.

“Of course. Sorry for talking your ear off.”

“No, I got carried away as well.”

Dahlia made sure to completely extinguish the campfire before covering it with earth. She then tidied up everything she’d brought from the carriage so as to leave the place just as they’d found it. Volf’s clothes were still somewhat damp, so they hung them from the carriage where they’d catch the breeze. His armor they packed away in the back.

Once they’d settled themselves in the driver’s seat, Volf gave a big stretch. He hadn’t slept since his escape from the wyvern, so he must have been exhausted.

“We’ll be on the road for a while. You should sleep until we reach the city. I’ll wake you once we’re near the wall so you can change.”

“I’m fine,” Volf replied with a little shake of his head. “I think it must be because of the potion—I don’t feel all that sleepy. Would you mind if we talked for a while longer?”

“Not at all.”

As she took up the reins, Dahlia remembered the bottle of white wine she’d been drinking on the way here. When she opened the bag it was in, she found it had frothed up a bit from the rocking of the carriage. She wished she’d remembered it at lunch; she could have given all the red to Volf.

“Something wrong?”

“Just some white wine I opened earlier. I forgot all about it.”

“I couldn’t have a sip, could I?”

She’d already given him water and red wine, but after two days without anything to eat or drink, it was quite possible that he was still thirsty.

“Sorry, it’s only my leftovers. You can have it all if you’re still thirsty.”

“It’s me who should apologize; I’m drinking you dry here. It’s just...white wine’s my favorite,” Volf admitted as he raised the bottle to his lips. Dahlia couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty.

The pair spent the rest of the journey deep in conversation about magical tools and weapons. Dahlia explained all about the various magical tools used by the ordinary citizens of the royal capital, while Volf shared what he knew of the magical arms and tools in the royal castle. It was great fun sharing their knowledge with each other and discovering new things, so much so that the trip went by in a flash.

Dahlia stopped the carriage near the city gates so Volf could change into his clothes. Unfortunately, they were still not quite dry. Concerned that he would be cold, Dahlia insisted that he keep the coat on as well. In the end, Volf hadn’t slept a wink throughout the whole journey. Perhaps, Dahlia reasoned, it was in the nature of a knight to always be wary of his surroundings, even while enjoying a good conversation.

According to Volf, there was a building inside the castle gates with a permanently stationed guard. Volf would go there first and get the all-clear before heading on to the castle. It made sense—they would hardly let a civilian drive a carriage right up to it. This would be where they parted ways. Just as she stopped the carriage in front of the building, rain began to fall. Volf climbed down from the driver’s seat and began to take off the coat Dahlia had given him, but she quickly stopped him.

“Keep it on. Your clothes aren’t dry yet, and I’d hate for you to catch a cold. It’s made from sand lizard skin, so it’ll wick away the rain.”

“Oh, thanks. I’ll borrow it then. Thank you for everything, Dali. You saved my life today. Can you tell me your address? I’ll come and repay you afterward.”

“There’s no need, honestly. You Beast Hunters are the ones out there keeping us all safe. Think of it as a show of gratitude.”

“At least let me buy you a drink!”

Was that an invitation to be friends? Dahlia had very much enjoyed talking with Volf. She would’ve loved to meet and chat with him again. However, even though she’d had good reason, there was the unavoidable fact that she’d deceived him by allowing him to believe she was a man. It was unfortunate, but it would be for the best if their acquaintance ended here and now.

“Say hello if you happen to see me in town. Then I’ll have that drink,” Dahlia replied more cheerfully than she felt. She knew that the chances of a knight like Volf and her, a mere civilian, meeting again in this great city were infinitesimally small.

The downpour grew heavier. Volf said something, but she couldn’t hear. It was at that moment that another carriage drew up behind her.

“I have to get going,” she told him. “I’m blocking the road. See you!”

She felt bad, but she took the opportunity to cut the conversation short and drove the sleipnir on.

“Goodbye, Dali!”

Only as he called out her name did his voice manage to cut through the heavy rain. As she drove away, the image of his beautiful smile lingered as though it were burned into her eyes. This day would be more fateful than she could know.

The royal castle lay in the north of the capital, surrounded by a towering wall of white stone. It wasn’t an opulent construction; it had been built with defense and utility in mind, giving it a distinctly modern feel.

“Volf! Thank god you’re alive!”

“Sir Scalfarotto, you’re safe!”

“That’s not a ghost I’m seein’, is it?!”

As soon as he passed through the castle’s great stone gates, Volf was greeted by dozens of men from the Order of Beast Hunters, all of them seemingly oblivious to the rain. As soon as they saw him, he was mobbed, his fellow knights jostling and crowding around him. In the chaos, someone kicked him in the back of the knee.

The knights of the Order of Beast Hunters were made up of nobles and commoners alike. There may have been differences in their social standing, but fighting side by side and risking their lives with every mission forged bonds of iron between them. Their unity was no façade; many of the men showed the same concern for one another as they would for their own families.

Behind the crowd gathered around Volf, a few knights and soldiers watched from a distance. A handful of maids and other women looked on too. It seemed all of them had come out to see Volf’s safe return for themselves.

“I’m so sorry for worrying you all!” Volf called out to everyone, several comrades still hanging off of him.

It had been two full days since he’d been snatched up by the wyvern. Parties from the Beast Hunters had taken turns to search for him, but they had all but given up hope by now. Apparently, after the third day, preparations would have begun for a hero’s funeral. Volf could only keep apologizing profusely.

“How did you manage to get back here?” one of his friends asked, a hand tightly gripping his shoulder. Thanks to the potion from Dahlia, the wound that had been there had completely vanished.

“I stabbed the wyvern in the belly, and it dropped me.”

“You what?! Volf, you’re crazy! What happened to the wyvern?”

“I made sure it was dead, then I used my strengthening spell and ran down the mountain. Eventually I found the highway, and I met someone there who helped me. He even gave me a potion and drove me back here.”

“Well, thank the gods for that. I really thought we’d lost you this time. Everyone’s been worried sick, you know.” Volf’s friend, a man with dark-blue hair, sniffled loudly before raising his head with a broad smile. “Anyway! You’re safe now, and that’s all that matters!”

“Right. Sir Volfred and a wyvern flying off to die like lovers? It’s not even funny.”

“When I saw you being carried off, that’s when I realized: lady-killers have it tough sometimes.”

“You can bet that wyvern was a female!”

The men roared with laughter at the ridiculous jokes.

One after another, Volf’s companions affectionately patted him on the head and shoulders.

“We’ll get word out to the search party that you’re safe. Oh, does your family know yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Last they heard, you were carried off by a wyvern. They must be worried. I’ll send a messenger to let them know you’re back.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Volf replied. Only then did it dawn on him that he’d completely forgotten about sending word home. His mind had been full of other things.

“Well, you look all right, but are you really not hurt anywhere?”

“It’s just my eyes; the wyvern’s blood got into them and now my vision’s blurry. I’ll report to the captain and then go straight to the medical office. I’ll shower after that, then get some sleep. I need it.”

He’d washed in the river, but there had been no soap. A faint smell of blood still clung to his hair. The same went for his clothes.

“Damn, I hope the smell of blood hasn’t gotten into this coat.”

“You can always get it cleaned in the castle... Hm? Hold on, that coat’s not one of ours, is it?”

“No, I borrowed it from the person who found me. He said it’s sand lizard skin.”

“Sand lizard? That’s not what’s on the back of the collar. Let me see it.”

Volf’s friend pulled the coat off of him and studied it with narrowed eyes. After turning it inside out and staring at the lining for a few moments, he let out a deep sigh.

“The outside’s sand lizard, but look at this lining—this is wyvern skin. That’s a real luxury item. If you’re gonna use wyvern, you’d normally put it on the outside, where people can see it.”

“Only the best for the Scalfarottos, huh?”

“I told you, I borrowed it.”

“Just where did you go before you came back to the castle, anyway? Not that I blame you; if I had a woman, I’d probably drop in on her first, myself.”

“There is no woman. I’ll thank you not to make assumptions.”

Just as the conversation began to derail, one of Volf’s comrades, who was from a merchant family, took a look at the coat.

“You’d better return this as soon as you can. It’s made with finely cut pieces of wyvern hide held in place with enchantments. A coat like that doesn’t come cheap.”

“I see.”

“Was it a woman who lent you this, Volf?”

“No, it was the man who gave me a ride back to the city. He said it was his father’s.”

“Damn, well, don’t be surprised if that father comes after you waving a knife.”

“He couldn’t have known how valuable it is if he lent it to you just like that.”

“Maybe not.”

The somewhat hazy image of Dali’s face rose into Volf’s mind. The carriage the man had driven had been drawn by a sleipnir, not an ordinary horse. When he’d asked that they speak informally, Dali had obliged and seemed at ease. He’d been knowledgeable about all sorts of magical tools. Volf could only assume he was from a fairly wealthy merchant family. He had left without giving an address or taking a single piece of copper for his trouble. Volf could well imagine the young man getting a harsh scolding at this very moment from the coat’s owner, his father. The thought made Volf horribly uneasy.

“Nobody ’cept a noble would casually lend a thing like that.”

“No, he said he was a commoner.”

“Must have been a wealthy merchant then, or a relative, at any rate.”

“I didn’t get his family name, but I got his first name, at least. I’ll ask after him at the Merchants’ Guild. I have to thank him properly for what he did.”

“You told him you were from the Beast Hunters, right?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well then, he’ll probably contact you! I’ll bet he wants to be friends.” The man laughed and slapped Volf’s shoulder.

“I’d be glad if he did. I’d like a chance to talk to him again...” Volf murmured. He looked like a young boy in a daydream as he smiled gently. No one would have guessed that this was the same man who’d been nicknamed the Bane of Beasts, the Black Reaper, and the Heartbreaker. His comrades were taken aback; they’d never seen him this way before.

“Hey, Volf, do you feel okay?”

“Something’s not right with Sir Volfred.”

“Someone go tell the captain; we’re taking him to the doctor right away! Must be some side effect of that dragon blood, or maybe he hit his head.”

“He’s not himself!”

With that, Volf was immediately escorted to the medical office.

“I’m very glad to see you’re safe, Volfred.”

“Captain Grato, please allow me to apologize for the great inconvenience I have caused the order.”

After finally being discharged by the doctor, Volf had come straight to the office of his commanding officer. A red-eyed man as imposing and solid as a boulder gazed at him from the other side of the desk. This was Marquis Grato Bartolone, captain of the Order of Beast Hunters. In spite of being near fifty, he didn’t merely command the order but still served actively on the battlefield.

“I hear you were taken to the medical office earlier. Were you wounded?”

“No, sir. The dragon’s blood has caused some inflammation in my eyes, that is all.”

The doctor had diagnosed him with nothing more than mild fatigue and anemia. The inflammation in his eyes was also mild; he had them properly rinsed and was given some eye drops. Even after the doctor’s assurance that there was nothing seriously wrong with him, Volf’s comrades had been making such a fuss that the doctor had lost his temper and shooed them all out into the hallway.

“Take a seat. Let’s hear your report,” said the captain, nodding toward the other side of the room where there was an area for receiving guests. The two men sat down opposite each other on the comfortable sofas, separated by a polished black table. It was only the two of them in the spacious room.

“My report is as follows. After I was captured by the wyvern, I stabbed it with my sword in midair and fell into the trees. I then confirmed that the wyvern was dead. I spent the next two days running in the direction of the capital. When I reached the highway, I was aided by a civilian. He gave me a potion and food, then brought me to the capital by carriage. I sent word of my return from the castle’s west gate, then entered the castle.”

“You’re a very fortunate young man. You are absolutely sure you killed the beast?”

“Yes, sir. I checked twice.”

Grato nodded in satisfaction.

“A wyvern, eh? That’s a species of dragon. Putting aside that it caught you and carried you off, the fact remains that you felled it single-handedly. You’ve earned the right to the title of Dragonslayer.”

“But sir, the other men wounded it first. I’m sure it only fell because it was weakened. In addition, I wasted two days of the order’s time by allowing myself to be captured. I’m willing to accept whatever punishment you deem fit.”

He’d only mentioned the possibility of a formal apology to Dahlia, but he knew that consequences could have been extremely grave if he’d been unable to slay the wyvern and it had headed toward human habitations. He was sure he’d be in for a severe reprimand. However, Captain Grato shook his head.

“If you’re positive you killed it, then there’s no problem. On the contrary, with you being a Dragonslayer now, I’d be happy to recommend you for the Household Troops. How about it?”

“I must decline, sir.”

“You’re the only man I know who’d turn down an opportunity like that.”

“If I’m recommended for the Household Troops, I may resign.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, I don’t intend to force you.”

Seeing the seriousness in the young man’s face, Grato gave a wry smile. He’d made the same suggestion once before when Volf had slain a colossal beast, but the young knight had refused just the same. To be selected for the Household Troops was supposed to be the dream of every knight, but it seemed to be the last thing Volf wanted.

“Now, I want you to tell me about when the wyvern snatched you up. Do you believe it was trying to use you as a shield?”

“I couldn’t say, sir. But if a beast were to do that, it would be very effective. Neither the mages nor the archers would be able to attack.”

“It’s the first time we’ve seen something like this on a mission. The last thing we need is those overgrown lizards picking up new tricks.”

Grato’s expression was grim as he ran a hand through his thinning, dark-gray hair.

“I will ask the men to attack regardless if I’m ever caught like that again.”

“Don’t be stupid. Would you have them shoot at me if I were caught? I won’t allow it. What we need to do is train the men to slay the thing themselves if they’re caught.”

“Yes, sir. Forgive me.”

In his heart, Grato sighed.

Volfred Scalfarotto was a young knight too handsome for his own good. He’d joined the order at seventeen and immediately expressed his desire to join the Scarlet Armors. Within only half a year, his wish had been granted. He’d participated in many perilous battles before today, yet never once had he sustained any serious injuries.

For the first few years, there were some who considered him a reckless fool, but not now. He held the highest respect of everyone in the order—and many outside it—for his great skill and valor.

Unusually for a noble, Volf had no ability in offensive or restorative magic. His sole magical talent was for strengthening spells. Aided only by that, he faced the enemy again and again without fear. He charged into battle, he attacked, he evaded, and so on as many times as he needed to until the battle was won. If it would hasten their victory or draw danger away from his comrades, he wouldn’t hesitate to risk his own life. It seemed like something beyond mere bravery at times—sheer recklessness, even an eagerness to die.

Grato’s first impression of Volf had been of a man overly keen for glory, or perhaps harboring some fantasy of martyrdom. But after fighting at Volf’s side countless times, he knew that wasn’t the case. This man had no appetite for bloodshed. He had no fear. He had no interest in glory. Volf was purely, single-mindedly committed to fulfilling the role he had been given. It was no more complicated than that.

He thought nothing of fighting terrifying beasts because that was the order’s purpose. He thought nothing of fighting at the vanguard, as a decoy, at the rear guard, the battle’s most dangerous positions, because he was a Scarlet Armor. As far as he was concerned, that was his duty, nothing more or less. Grato was troubled by Volf’s complete dedication to duty without concern for his own life.

“You’re off duty until your eyes are completely healed. Take six days, starting tomorrow. You can return once the doctor clears you. If they don’t get better, then go to the temple. The order will cover the cost.”

“Understood. Thank you, sir.”

Volf gave a little cough and straightened himself.

“Captain Grato, I would like to make a request.”

“Let me guess, since you’re a Dragonslayer now, you’d like your own magical sword?”

“It’s not that, sir.”

Magical swords were the only topic Volf ever brought up at times like these. Grato had shown his blade, Ash-Hand, to Volf any number of times. When Volf had first entered the order, Grato had warned the young man again and again that the blade would burn anyone other than himself. However, Volf had been absolutely adamant about trying it and, inevitably, had come away with a nastily burned hand for his efforts. If you knew something about magical swords, Volf would probably be happy to buy you drinks all night long.

Today, however, it seemed he finally had something else to ask.

“The man who helped me in the forest seems to have been a merchant. I would like a letter of introduction for the Merchants’ Guild. I didn’t have the opportunity to repay him for the potion he gave me.”

“Did you forget to ask the name of his business?”

“No, he told me he didn’t need payment. He said to think of it as a show of gratitude for the order’s work. I wanted to speak with him further, but then another carriage came up behind him...”

“And he took off, did he? Might’ve had a good reason.”

At that, Volf frowned slightly. “What reason could there be?”

“Could have been harvesting illegally, or he could have been a foreign spy, for all we know. I don’t know what he’d be doing out west of the forest; there’s nothing there.”

“He didn’t seem like that sort of person.”

“Of course, there’s always the possibility that he didn’t want his wife or daughter meeting you.”

“I don’t...think that was it.”

Sadly, the hesitation in Volf’s voice betrayed that it was a distinct possibility. Grato had been half-joking, but it seemed he’d hit unexpectedly close to the mark.

This young man’s looks drew glances wherever he went. He was not only tall and handsome, but also blessed with a rare combination of black hair and golden eyes. The others often teased him for hogging all the good looks, telling him not to be selfish and to leave some for everyone else. Whether he liked it or not, Volf had an unmatched ability to attract women. Grato had heard from the men in the order that there was actually a manual in circulation for how to refuse demands for introductions to Volf from female relatives and friends. In all honesty, if Grato had a daughter, he wouldn’t have wanted to introduce them either.

“Even so, sir, I would like to find that merchant. I should at least thank him for his help.”

“All right. I’ll write you a letter right away, so just wait there.”

A slight aura of gloom had begun to emanate from Volf, rousing a little sympathy from the captain. He went straight to his desk and began to write. Once finished, he used a dryer to set the ink on the parchment.

“I’ll pray you find your benefactor.”

Volf took the letter held out to him and bowed deeply. Then, his footsteps a little slower than when he’d come, he left the office.

“If Dali does have a wife at home, I’m sure we could meet in a bar or something.”

Only the hallway walls heard the young man’s whisper.

Dahlia placed a fresh fire crystal into her magical lantern and hung it up in the workshop. The rain outside still hadn’t relented.

Dahlia’s grandfather had been the first to devise this type of lantern. He’d converted them to use fire crystals instead of oil and made them more compact and efficient. Just one crystal could provide light for a long time, making these magical lanterns indispensable for travelers and night watchmen. Back when her grandfather had first created them, oil had been the cheaper fuel, but fire crystals had since become much more readily available. Oil lanterns and magical lanterns now cost about the same to run. The former were cheaper to buy, but the latter were safer and easier to maintain.

The most rapidly evolving area of magical toolmaking was in tools for the home. It was becoming similar to the consumer electronics industry Dahlia remembered from her past life. The variety and accessibility of these products had surged since her grandfather’s time. Her father had chalked it up to advances in research on magic crystals and their wider availability. It seemed that regardless of whether their world was fantastical or mundane, people naturally felt compelled to invent and develop tools to make their daily lives easier.

From fridges and freezers powered by ice crystals to ventilators made with air crystals, to home heating and magic-assisted stoves made with fire crystals, homes were now filled with all manner of magical tools. As was to be expected in a world filled with magic, there were also some tools that had no equivalent in Dahlia’s past life; for example, there were anti-eavesdropping devices often used by nobles, and there were tools used when battling monsters to prevent afflictions like petrification and confusion. She still had much to learn about how these functioned.

One of the most surprising magical tools Dahlia had come across were those that prevented poisoning. It turned out they had a popular use beyond protection against certain monsters. Simply by wearing one, you could eat poisonous plants and animals as delicacies without coming to harm. Each kind of poison needed to be handled with the appropriate care, of course, but in the right amounts and combinations, nearly all of them could be enjoyed safely. Dahlia had been quite shocked the first time she’d seen someone put on a detoxifying bracelet and bite into red mushrooms and bright-blue fish with relish. If nothing else, these tools were a reminder that human appetites could be a powerful driver of invention.

Dahlia lined up a variety of parts on her workbench and began to formulate ideas, jotting down notes on a piece of unbleached paper. In this kingdom, plant-based paper and writing implements were readily available, if somewhat expensive. The pencil-like implements were made by wrapping a thin charcoal core with hardened paper. Contracts and such had traditionally been written upon parchment, but Dahlia had heard at the Merchants’ Guild that paper documents were becoming increasingly common.

Ever since the day after breaking off her engagement, Dahlia had had a certain invention in mind: the foaming soap dispenser. While it didn’t involve any magic, it would be a refreshing and nostalgic little project.

The main parts that made up the dispenser were the bottle, the upper part of the cap that pushed down, the lower part of the cap, and the pump mechanism inside it. Pushing the upper part of the cap down would exert pressure on the contents of the bottle, drawing the liquid up the pump’s tube and through a fine mesh filter, which would turn the liquid into foam before dispensing it. The cap needed to not only push down but to come back up again on its own, so Dahlia would need to insert a spring as well. She’d had experience taking apart and reassembling these dispensers in college, and she had seen schematics at the company she’d joined after graduating, so she had a general idea of how they worked. She decided to try making a prototype.

As she set to work, Dahlia was keenly reminded of what a useful force magic was. With her magic, she could adjust the hardness and shape of the materials as she created parts for her tools. This world had all the same metals as the one she’d inhabited before, as well as others like mythril, spiritsilver, and orichalcum. There was no plastic, but some materials derived from slimes and krakens had similar properties. Dahlia had learned the basics of how to combine materials in her high school classes, but there was a lot to be gained from experimenting with unusual combinations and processes. It was something Dahlia never tired of. She was in her element here in the workshop, trying and testing her way to new crafting solutions.

She scribbled down notes as she molded the parts, refined them with magic, and checked them thoroughly before assembling them. As the night drew in, the workshop was lit up with shimmering, multicolored sparks—that special light that shone from the hands of a magical toolmaker at work. She disassembled her creation, remade parts, reassembled, and took notes. She repeated the process again and again, her attention focused solely on the objects in front of her.

Dahlia’s magical ability was fairly potent for a commoner. Her ancestors had been magical toolmakers for generations, and her mother had been of noble birth, so it wasn’t particularly surprising. Dahlia remembered nothing of her mother, not even her face. She had seemingly been a force of nature, all but forcing Dahlia’s father into marriage. When the time had come for Dahlia to be born, she’d returned to her family home. Dahlia’s father never saw her again. Only his newborn daughter had been returned to him, and she’d stayed with him all her life. She only knew of these events from the roundabout explanations the maid had given her; she didn’t know the details. However, the fact that her father had never contemplated remarrying or uttered a single bad word about her mother was perhaps telling enough.

Though her magical power was strong for someone of humble birth, by the time Dahlia had reached high school, she was only average among the students. She couldn’t hold a candle to the abilities of high-ranking nobles. When she’d heard about the impressive feats the mages could achieve, she’d found herself wishing for some sort of magic cheat code—if reincarnation was possible, why not that? However, there was an advantage to having weaker magic. Rather than letting it out all in a powerful burst, people like Dahlia had the ability to express their magic steadily over time. This skill was ideal for a magical toolmaker; it came in handy when crafting and refining delicate parts. At times like these, Dahlia felt extremely thankful for her abilities.

Hours flew by as Dahlia worked through trial and error, gradually perfecting her creation. Making the pump and fine-tuning the spring took longer than expected; it was almost dawn by the time she finished, but she had managed to produce two satisfactory prototypes. All that was left now was to go to the bathroom, find the right strength of soap to produce a good foam, and make adjustments as needed.

Taking a breather, Dahlia finally reached for the glass of wine on the side table that she’d poured some time ago. It had gone disappointingly tepid. She’d intended to buy red wine on her way back from returning the hired carriage, but she’d ended up picking up a bottle of white instead. As the wine flowed down her throat, her thoughts turned to that young man who’d talked to her so enthusiastically about magical swords. They’d spent only a few hours in each other’s company, but what a pleasant time it had been. Even now, the mere memory brought a smile to her face. If only she’d been a man, or if Volf had been a woman, she wouldn’t have hesitated to give him her address. Their chances of meeting again in this sprawling city were almost nil. Even if they did, it was very possible that he wouldn’t even recognize her.

Resigning herself to the reality that she was unlikely to ever see him again, Dahlia offered a little prayer for Volf’s recovery.

“Please let Sir Volf’s eyes get better again.”