bookworm

Spewing the most servile thing I could think of, I knelt before the couch she was laying on. I was prepared to submit myself to her whims.
Frankly, I had no delusions of trying to fool Lady Agrippina. She was the kind of playful—nay, mocking enemy found in the back of advanced rule books, whose existence was a challenge to the player: fight her if you dare. What was the point in trying to hide information from a monster that could bring down a full party of maxed-out PCs? If she felt like it, she could strip my soul bare with psychosorcery; an honest apology was a much, much better choice than lying.
“You have my deepest apologies for allowing guests in without your permission, be it only into the parlor as it was. This decision was mine and mine alone, and I am prepared to bear responsibility for it.”
“Oh, my loyal servant. It pleases me to see that you understand your own transgressions. After all, they say a retainer who cannot sense their master’s anger is fated to a short life.”
H-Holy shit. This was why the upper class were so scary: they could mull over the lives and deaths of us peasants as if it were chitchat, sporting the same thin smile and easy tone of voice as usual.
That said, I wasn’t a blithering enough idiot to show up without preparing an excuse—one good enough to convince the likes of the madam, at that. I told her the full story without any omissions or exaggerations: everything from how I met Miss Celia to how we’d helped her escape; the battle from last night; and my meeting and subsequent acquaintance with Lady Franziska.
Lady Agrippina listened to my tale in silence—laughter did not count—until I was completely finished. I couldn’t see what part of my misfortune was so amusing as to leave her gripping her sides in pain, but after I’d retold everything, she simply said, “I shall put it on your tab.”
“...What?”
“I’m saying that I shall let you off with the small debt of a single favor.”
Wiping a single tear from her eye, the madam named a price several times more frightening than a mere fine. Was I crazy, or was handing this woman a blank contract basically the same thing as suicide?
Wait, no. At least with suicide I’d get to die a peaceful death... Still, I supposed this was a better fate than someone of my standing could have realistically hoped for.
“A...favor?”
“Your account was entertaining, and it appears as though everything has been tied up nicely, so I don’t mind. I was able to confirm that you have some sense of your place, as well.”
“Is that truly acceptable?”
“The question of whether it’s acceptable or not is mired in all manner of issues, but consider this: had you handed that girl in, the situation would only have worsened. The grudge of a noble scorned is quite something.”
To tell the truth, I had planned on using that as another excuse. While Miss Celia wasn’t the type to obsess about revenge, there had been a chance that her pursuers were bandits merely masquerading as noble retainers. If I’d let her slip into their hands, who knew what her parents would do to me? Or even if they truly did belong to her house, it was possible that she’d resent me for foiling her getaway and exact vengeance on me after marrying—or so the justification went.
The real Miss Celia was a saint in all but name; I was sure such dark thoughts never even crossed her mind. Still, an enraged aristocrat was more than capable of fashioning guilt for a lower-class enemy to don.
“I should think this conclusion as clean as they come,” Lady Agrippina said. “Though I suppose you did nearly die again.”
“...Yes, well, I’d rather not experience my limbs flying off ever again.”
“I’m sure. They don’t grow back and are challenging to replace, so take care of them, will you?”
I don’t need to hear that from you—I know plenty well they don’t grow back. I was acutely aware that my irreplaceable arms and legs were only with me thanks to Miss Celia.
But come to think of it, who had that guy been, anyway? Lady Franziska had said not to worry because she’d administered him a “healthy dose of discipline,” but that mage had at least been on the level of a College professor. Trying to figure out why he’d been waiting for me—and trying to look cool doing it—confounded me to no end.
He’d appeared with all the pomp and circumstance of an unprepared GM rolling dice to figure out what kind of boss to place at the end of a mission. There was a palpable malice in his placement, as if I’d dodged the true final boss and forced the world to place an unavoidable encounter on my escape route to make sure the climax didn’t fizzle out. I’d seen this sort of thing before: once, my old crew and I had tried to pilfer the precious gems out of some ruin and were on the verge of escaping without incident when we randomly “discovered” that the pillars holding the place up had been crystal golems all along.
Judging from his demeanor, I could tell that the masked nobleman had been toying with me, but not much else. Seriously, why had that broken enemy just been waiting there?
“With that said,” Lady Agrippina went on, “strip.”
“Huh?”
“I said strip.”
Yes, ma’am.
Though her order came out of nowhere, I couldn’t talk back if she was going to insist. He who has wronged was ever at the mercy of she who has been wronged.
I took off the shirt I’d been given at the Bernkastel estate, and the madam stopped me, saying that my upper half would do. She then began to ogle with an unhidden gaze.
Personally, I found my young build lacking and frail, despite my developing muscles. My shoulders were beginning to gain definition, my limbs had started to grow stronger, and I’d long since left my childish potbelly behind; yet I was still far from the virile physique I was so enamored with.
More to the point, though, I’d already checked in the mirror to confirm that my detached arm and legs bore no trace of their gruesome injuries. Not only that, but my run-in with the crank of high rank had seen me tumbling this way and that; my “Daisy Blossom” spell alone had blasted me straight into a pillar. I should’ve looked mushier than a bruised banana, and yet I couldn’t find so much as a scab.
“Hmm...”
However, Lady Agrippina could see what I could not. Her gaze ran down an invisible line where my flesh had once parted. Even when I really put my mind to it, I couldn’t detect any lingering evidence of how reality had been warped; this was yet another example of how much more capable her eyes were.
Gods, it’s so tempting. If I could see the world as well as her, the edge I’d gain in arcane combat would be unquestionable. But a mystic swordsman couldn’t afford to divert points away from physical attributes; I didn’t want to spread myself too thin and end up being lousy at everything.
“The gods certainly do work miracles,” the madam mused. “Not even those flesh-crazed cultists of Setting Sun could graft skin this naturally. From a thaumaturgical standpoint, it is nearly as if your arm had never been severed at all.”
“I didn’t realize it was that impressive.”
“Nerves, arteries, bones and the marrow in them—human bodies are more than mere clay. One can cultivate replacement skins all day, but effort cannot replicate healing this perfect. I can see why those poor maniacs eye the faithful with such envy.”
Gently, Lady Agrippina’s finger reached out and traced the absent scar. Even though she caught me off guard, I remained totally sound of mind. Despite having already experienced a rather embarrassing accident during my trip to Wustrow, I had at least yet to let my preferences drift too far from reputability. Something instinctual in my soul whispered to my body: This one’s a no-go. Despite all the trouble my teen body had been causing me recently, I figured it deserved a bit of praise for its prudence here.
“Ahh, but there is residue of the magical variety: a spell that misaligns bits of space to render anything occupying it into mincemeat. How vulgar. An attack of this sort scoffs at the very notion of evasion and defense... Standard conceptual barriers would shatter instantly. What sort of depraved life must you live to come up with a means to turn mere embodiment into a weakness?”
Amazingly, Lady Agrippina managed to see through the true nature of the formula off the faintest leftover mana clinging to my wound. As impressive as her depth of knowledge was, I was too busy trembling at having been the target of the attack to marvel.
I’d been lucky to only have three limbs twisted off. If what she was saying was true, I should’ve been a reorganized mess of meat; the spell was like crumpling up a piece of paper to crush the stickman drawn on it.
“Mm, I’ve gotten the gist. I’ve memorized this mana signature; that will be enough.”
“What? Are you planning on looking into the person who attacked me?”
“Indeed. Though it isn’t as if I intend to avenge you or anything.”
“I know that much...”
“Call it a personal curiosity. Feel free to make yourself decent.”
A sweet fragrance wafted my way as I put my clothes back on: finished with a quick chore, the madam had decided it was time for a smoke break. I carefully tried to slip my neck through my shirt without letting my hair get caught, but just as I did, a cold voice cut through the cloth to sting my ears.
“It is a stroke of fortune that you’re alive...but I will not tolerate a second ‘all’s well that ends well, happily ever after.’”
The usual play in her tone was gone, and her reproach was not followed by a lighthearted confirmation; this was a warning in the truest sense. I jammed my head through my collar, hair be damned, and quickly got back on my knees.
“I am well aware.”
“Mm, very well. Anyhow, I shall be charging your patron from now on whenever money is involved, so make sure to see through the preparations on that end.”
“As you will.”
“I’m sure you’re very tired, so you may leave for today. Resume your duties tomorrow morning.”
Anger was most terrifying when it came from an ordinarily freehanded master; a happily ever after truly was too much to ask for. Though I didn’t regret my decision, this adventure of mine had come with a steep debt...

[Tips] Arcane limb replacement is an imperfect craft. Newly generated flesh is sure to differ in skin tone at minimum, and requires long hours of rehabilitation to reconnect and retrain the nervous system.
Meanwhile, the faithful cast miracles that outperform these mystic surgeries off the back of spiritualism alone. The magia who dedicate themselves to the arduous pursuit of knowledge often look at priests and the like with unjustified envy and anger.

Whether I was dying or Miss Celia was running for her life, the capital chugged along all the same. The only notable difference tonight was that there were far fewer guards walking the streets. Now that the chaos had subsided—I didn’t want to imagine what had gone on behind the scenes—there wasn’t much point in keeping watch at every corner, so I guessed it was inevitable.
Looking back, I felt awful about how I’d treated the dependable guardians of our city. My back had been against the wall, and I hadn’t been able to hold back as much as I would’ve liked; a fair number of them must have suffered broken bones. The crown offered good benefits, so they wouldn’t struggle to find treatment or get paid leave, but worsening their daily lives came with pangs of guilt.
Gingerly knocking someone out in one hit like some comic-book hero was an exacting task, but maybe that was just my own lack of skill talking. Unfortunately, people were too complex to go down after a single punch to the gut or neck, and smacking their heads was a shortcut to sustained injuries; strangulation didn’t keep people down long enough, so that wasn’t an option either. I could only ask that they lay the blame on my spineless performance and Miss Celia’s immature father—preferably at a one-to-nine ratio.
Speaking of benefits, I’d nearly forgotten. Mika and I had met up at the Bernkastel manor, where we’d celebrated our mutual safe returns and I’d honored her courageous devotion, but I had yet to recognize two of the most important contributors to our cause.
“Ursula, Lottie.”
I whispered too quietly for anyone else to hear, but clearly enunciated their names. A cool and refreshing breeze rolled by, sweeping away the lukewarm night.
Yet as the current faded, it left behind two gifts on my head. I didn’t need to look up; the alfar who had helped Miss Celia escape and whose valiant efforts indirectly saved my life were here.
They’d gone above and beyond for me. Had Miss Celia stowed away to Lipzi instead of calling for her aunt, I would have traded lives with that lunatic in the sewers at best. In the worst case, I could have missed my final shot and been reduced to chum without so much as avenging myself.
And of course, the young lady’s aeronautical adventure wouldn’t have succeeded without Ursula and Lottie’s help. The thing was a top imperial secret that would determine the political, economic, and military future of the nation: a posh girl oblivious to scouting methods was sure to be caught by security immediately without the help of these high-ranking fairies.
Alfar were so profoundly intimidating. If they could be bound to any sort of rhyme or reason instead of committing themselves to whimsy, I could see an entire new school of thought emerging amongst magia, dedicated to forging spells with fey assistance...though it was their unpredictability that made them fey in the first place.
“Here, Beloved One. Aren’t you a tad late with your summons?”
“Wah... I’m tiiired...”
Their voices were downcast enough to make it clear Lottie’s grumbling was founded in something real. I wonder if something happened to them.
“We received quite the earful, you see.”
“Ughhh, we got yelled at for helping too much...”
Apparently, some of the most important alfar had scolded them with scathing intensity. While I’d known that the kings and queens of the fey realm were closer to spirits and gods than the rabble, I wouldn’t have imagined that they’d be the ones directly rebuking these two.
Alfar were supposed to be aware of their own boundaries, keeping their meddling within reason. The two of them had answered my ambiguous request for them to help Miss Celia with enough effort to get them lectured.
...I guess they deserved a proper reward. They were my saviors, after all.
“Thank you both—I mean it. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
“In that case, look over there.”
Ursula leaned over the edge of my head, and I followed her outstretched finger to see a small clearing. It was an empty area meant to contain fires, just like the one Mika had been waiting in on the day of the parade.
“What say you to a dance? I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep you to myself if I take you to the hill.”
“Sure, let’s dance.”
I made my way over to the square, and another breeze came to whisk away one of the weights on my crown. In its place, the beautiful, full-sized girl I’d first met all those nights ago appeared to greet me.
Her skin glimmered like deep honey under the moonlight, hidden only by overflowing currents of silver that blended into the orphic luminescence. Where the sterling river parted, the wings of a moon moth fluttered, blinking with otherworldly charm.
“Will you please take the lead?” she asked.
“Of course,” I answered.
Captivating, enchanting, and resolute, her vermilion eyes drooped into a smile.
Taking her small, graceful hand in mine, we began to dance. Ours was not a ballroom waltz in measured time, but the free movements of a rustic country swing; we spun around and around, drawing close and stepping away as it struck our fancy. As I twirled the same way I had during the festivals back in Konigstuhl, the svartalf elegantly moved to match.
We gently spun, then hugged and spun back, alternating steps as we faced one another. Locking our arms together, we used each other’s legs as axes to swing around and around. While I had to be careful not to drop Lottie—she was still busy pondering what she wanted—I merrily sustained the dance until beads of sweat began to form on my skin.
Seeing her alluring skin take on a faint blush in this festive mood made me understand the feelings of those who gave into temptation and were spirited away to the everlasting hill of twilight. Even though I wouldn’t go myself, I could tell it was surely a jolly place, free from any suffering. Had I lacked my promise with Margit, my duty to Elisa, or my family, maybe I wouldn’t have thought it such a terrible fate.
“That was wonderful.”
“Yeah, it sure was,” I said. “But man, I didn’t think I’d sweat like this considering how much training I do.”
We’d spent a whopping half hour dancing, and it was only now that I realized I was toeing a dangerous line. If others could see Ursula, then I was going to become an urban legend about some crazy kid dancing with alfar; if not, then I was just a lunatic dancing alone. Either way, an onlooker would call for the guards if they spotted me. While we’d thankfully managed to enjoy our dance without anyone bothering us, that was a bit careless of me.
“A boy’s sweat is a sacred thing,” Ursula said. Then, turning to Lottie, she said, “And what about you? I’ve had my fun, but how long are you going to think about this?”
“Um, ummm... Oh, oh! There’s a lot I want, but I’d like one locky, please!”
“Of my hair?”
I tilted my head, confused as to why she’d want that. But apparently, a blond child’s hair was literally worth its weight in gold amongst fairies.
“Oh, ohh!” Ursula shouted. “No fair! I should’ve chosen that too!”
“No!” Lottie shouted back. “You already got a dancy, Ursula! The locky is Lottie’s!”
“This isn’t fair! You would be dried jerky in that cage by now if it weren’t for me!”
“Nuh-uh! Would not! Lottie was napping!”
Ignoring their yapping back and forth, I untied my hair and cut off a small portion to bundle up for her. Long ago, imperial citizens used to weave decorative cords out of their hair, but modern spinning technology meant that only the poorest still did. I had no idea what she was going to use this for.
“Wow! Pretty! Thanks, Lovey One!” Smaller than the bundle of hair she was squeezing, Lottie happily twirled around while humming, “What oh what should I use it for?”
On the other hand, the fairy of the night was glaring at her friend with murderous envy... This was one of those episodes that would evolve into a grudge later, wasn’t it?
“Okay, okay, fine. Ursula, you can have one too, and Lottie gets a dance.”
“Huh? Are you sure? I mean, I’d be happy to accept if you’re willing.”
“Really?! I get a locky and a dancy?! Yay!”
For me, seeing someone’s mood sour before my eyes was much more taxing and bothersome than doing a bit of extra work. Besides, cutting off a bit of hair and dancing was nothing compared to what they’d done for me. Even if my actions bore more meaning than I knew, even if I was paying a hefty price that I couldn’t yet see, I thought I had a responsibility to repay them for saving my life.
I lopped off another tuft of hair, which pleased Ursula greatly. Then Lottie took my outstretched hand—still small—and invited me to dance. I think opinion may be split on whether or not ours counted as a “dance,” but she seemed content to hold on to my finger and zip around, so I figured it was fine.
“By the way, what are you going to do with that hair?”
“I wonder,” Ursula said. “What will I do with it? A necklace or hairpiece would be lovely, but I’d adore a ring or anklet too.”
“Lottie’s gonna ask for clothes!”
Accessories and clothing? Did alfar have the ability to process human hair into cloth? They sounded like a certain nomadic horse-riding people on the surface, which did not help make them less scary.
Regardless, I was just happy that they were happy. But while I could swing a sword for hours on end, my legs and hips were incredibly sore from just a bit of dancing. Maybe it was because I wasn’t used to it.
With my debts repaid, I was ready to go home and get some sleep...but then noticed that Ursula’s cheery mood had vanished, and that she was staring straight at me.
“...Is there something wrong?”
“I know you’ve given us two whole rewards, but let me say one last thing.”
Two and three aren’t all that different. I nodded her along, and her expression only grew graver.
“The next time you find yourself risking your life in combat, don’t cast us away, will you?”
“Oh...”
She went there. True: had these two been with me, the fight would have gone more smoothly. I might not have even needed a last-minute rescue at all. Magecraft generally only affected targets that the caster could perceive, so Ursula’s stealth could have protected me from attacks; Lottie’s wind would have been perfect for throwing off the hounds’ noses and pushing away the bugs.
However, without their help, who knows what would’ve happened to Miss Celia?
Unable to come up with a response, I stood there in silence. Watching me, Ursula came to her own conclusions and shrank back down with a quiet giggle.
“What a helpless boy.”
And just like when they’d appeared, a passing breeze whisked the alfar away. All that was left in their wake was a sweaty fool still bumbling for the right answer.
What was I meant to do?
My mind spun trying to digest her request, but only one thing made itself certain to me: I would ask those two to help me again if something important to me was on the line. Despite knowing I risked earning their ire, I had more to protect than met the eye if I wanted to stay true to myself.
“Man...”
I retied my hair and looked up at the moon, but not even the ever-shining Goddess of Night would bless me with the answer.