The following is a selection of exchanges via mail over the last couple of decades.
A: …overall, I think you should attempt altering segments 12-C, 56-E, and 32-B as I outlined above. I ran some experiments, and it should significantly improve the energy efficiency of the enchantment, which, in turn, should give the whole structure enough power to increase the mana-sensitivity of the pseudo-lenses and enhance the clarity of what you can observe through them by fifteen to twenty percent. I encountered a similar problem before in the previous iteration of the Mana-Mikroskop, which is how I know. Though at the time, I threw those particular segments of weaves and templates away because they resonated in a cascade of critical failures with another structure in the enchantment that, after so many iterations, isn't a part of it anymore. With your alterations and for your stated purpose, this should work just fine.
There is another matter I would like to discuss. After ten years of trial and error, I must acknowledge that I bit off more than I can chew.
Fundamentally, constructing a spell that reads emotions isn't overly difficult. Plenty of templates came to mind even before S decided to help and provide more obscure material, but fundamentally, all of the spells ever created for being able to sense emotions function by reading the emotions from one consciousness and allowing the other to experience it. They can let me experience the emotions of someone else, at least those emotions my core can process, but that, as you know, wasn't what I was after.
I need to be able to record and store the emotions and accumulate a library of them for the later stages of the project. I thought it wouldn't be overly difficult to create some sort of storage module, maybe an enchanted item, maybe a genuine spell, but it proves frustratingly difficult; ten years and I still can't intuit a proper solution.
The main problem is that mana is influenced by emotions, will, and intent. That's how we shape it into spells after all. Normally, that isn't a problem, even for the mental-magic; the visualization, intent, and emotions of the caster matter, not those of the target.
However, to process and store the emotions, every template I found so far utilizes the concept of emotions rather than working with what they mechanically are. Which means the subject matter isn't chemistry of the brain, or mechanics of the core, but the ethereal and unquantifiable 'emotion' as a subject matter. Because the concept of an emotion is utilized, it limits me in searching for a solution on that front. Normally, if you take a scientific approach, you can break down what emotions fundamentally are into pieces and work from there, but the mechanical limitations of magic turn the concept of 'emotions' into a prime number of sorts. I just can't 'divide' and break the problem down into simpler chunks further without breaking the template apart. And changing the template in any way results in it not working anymore, which leads to the next problem.
Captured by a spell as an 'emotion' instead of information, the emotion is coded into the mana of the spell itself. This gives the emotion a natural vector to influence it, and it does. If the spell is used immediately to experience the emotions of the target, there is no issue; the deterioration of the spell structure is too slow.
But if stored in a processing unit of any sort, the 'emotion-mana resonance' phenomena start to affect the containing spell, and because, as you are aware, spells are very deliberate configurations of mana by design, that, in turn, destroys the containment's spell structure. Sometimes explosively, sometimes in other unpredictable ways.
I haven't yet run out of avenues to improve upon the methodology, but I find it increasingly frustrating. At this rate, creating something serviceable would take me a century, if I am being optimistic. I will attach the grimoires for the incomplete spell with the courier, the one that currently explodes if cast. If you have something in mind after inspecting it, please do share. I know it's not quite your area of expertise, but the insight could be invaluable.
Also, for obvious reasons, I can't exactly go to S with this. You are my only hope of getting a second opinion on this terribleness.
Now, as for the reference you were searching for, I believe you need to track the tome 'Anatomy of Colours' on the second floor of the…
L: …which ended poorly and with everything covered in goop, as you might imagine. For reference, I will never forgive you for telling me you killed every proto-mimic. This was genuinely the most traumatizing experience of my life.
As for your question, I considered the grimoires you sent and your research notes on the subject. Generally, you could try…
[Five pages of very technical suggestions follow.}
With that said, I am puzzled by one thing. Am I missing something? Why are you even attempting an artificial enchanter construct to store memories to begin with, when it's much easier to merely change a living creature for the purpose? That will completely bypass the problem with mana you described. The creature doesn't even need to be organic in nature and can be constructed practically from the ground up with the necessary traits.
I mean, you are aware that we have a procedure on hand that will require extensive, yet obvious corrections, that may just allow you to save the century you are lamenting so?
I took it upon myself to request some newer bestiaries from S, and out of curiosity drafted a rough plan of the chimera you would need to create, and the procedure to shape it. From my rough estimates, you would have to capture a few relatively common monsters to make it work.
I can't in good conscience describe the procedure I propose in the letter, I never had your talent for abridging the complex subjects, so you would find my ideas amongst the tomes I sent you, with the copies of the bestiaries S gifted us. I would occasionally return to that project on my end, if only to get my mind off the Heart for a while, so please do check through my notes as soon as possible and delegate some work my way. Preferably, with my specific profile in mind.
Frankly, I would enjoy a side-project.
Now, if you are asking about Empire's tax policies, you first need to understand why it's physically impossible to simply take a hundred peasants and train them to be top-tier warriors…
A: …which is to say, I checked my memory of our every discussion since you returned with Resonant Soul, and I assure you, I never claimed the proto-mimics to be extinct, only that I haven't stumbled upon them in years. The suffering your buttocks have endured is of your own making, and besides, you know Goddess' Magic, missing a chunk of muscle tissue isn't lethal.
If you expected sympathy from me, I am sorry to disappoint; you are still a few centuries early.
Do be sure to integrate a mimic-detection spell into two constructs and keep them on you at all times whenever you venture outside of the living quarters or the labs, however.
As for your suggestions, you see, it turns out I am an idiot.
I never thought of this approach. I never even considered this approach. Why didn't I consider this approach and spend years working on a needless workaround is a question with no answer aside from 'inertia'.
I attached some corrections I made for your plans, but as far as the primary sketch goes, it's an amazing piece of work. Especially the artificial flesh integration, the schematics you provided do seem to possibly help offset the rejection of different core-fragments and help with said fragments merging organically, using the flesh as an anchor. I knew that Barmherzig's immortality originally bypassed cores altogether by turning the mana-flesh of the monsters into genuine flesh that he could shape with necromancy, and he used a trick to make changes to the flesh to reflect on the core. I even tried something similar in Irem in the fifteen years you were gone, but my progress has been very slow.
The necromantic templates he left behind just don't click for me; they require either a lot of trials and double-checking each piece of work done, or some innate understanding and intuition I seem to be lacking. Reminds me of some areas of mathematics I struggled with, and it's not a flattering comparison.
That said, as good as your ideas are, all of them require extensive testing. I suffered many failures with chimerology back in Irem, and in this last decade, when I did attempt to make some progress on that front, the artificial flesh I can construct using Barmherzig's notes is way too primitive and limited. I would need you to design me the right configuration of flesh if you could. Preferably, a few different ones to test. Casting those spells isn't an issue for me as long as it's a ritual, but configuring them is pure, distilled exercise in frustration.
Seeing that we can't really work in partnership due to the distance, and you, generally, being busy with the Heart, I will simply adapt the rest of the spellwork around your designs, instead of attempting to understand them in detail. I will have plenty of time to do that later. I also introduced a few minor corrections in the selection of monsters you proposed for the study, partially because you misunderstood the composition of some of them, and partially because I am not willing to travel to South Lands for Dead Ring Lilies - I may be unconstrained by age, but this is just you going out of your way to waste my time, L.
In any case, as you are aware, I am quite terrible at this, but thank you greatly for the help you provided already, and are signing yourself up to provide in the future. Frankly, I sometimes find myself humbled at how much you have grown beyond me in so many areas.
***
City of Magic, Äußerst
Forty or so years since Teuflisch's return to Irem,
It was less of a secret and more of a foundation legend, but it was said that Äußerst wasn't formed merely because of a good geographical location, or a collective of mages across the land suddenly wishing to live in their own independent city-state.
According to the legend, there was once a Great Mage of incredible wisdom and power, who lived alone in a small mansion on a lonely island surrounded by a lake.
That Great Mage enjoyed her privacy greatly, to the point that her house was enchanted to be an unbreachable fortress, but tolerated occasional visitors who paid her due respect and asked questions about magic she deemed interesting.
It was said that this Great Mage was so powerful and so wise that other respected sages from across the continent came to live near her for mere scraps of her knowledge… which is how Äußerst was formed. A camp at first, then a village, then a town, and now a sprawling city.
Few historical records of that time were still around, Neugieri knew; she did a bit of research on the subject. As far as she knew, a lot of younger students did at some point.
In any case, eventually, the immortal Great Mage was mostly forgotten, as after a while, she only accepted rare visits from the Äußerst's ruling council and refused to get involved in worldly matters, never even leaving her mansion, which, as the centuries went by, despite its enchantments, ended up buried beneath the ground… until it was so deep that some of the central buildings of Äußerst were practically built on top of it. With the Great Mage's permission, of course.
That last part wasn't a folk legend, but something Neugieri knew from experience.
And that is because…
The doors to the private chambers opened slowly, without her having to as much as flare her mana, the ancient enchantment on them oozing with power and still quite functional.
In a dimly lit room, filled with bookshelves, scrolls, and tomes, a figure clad in white lounged lazily on the throne that might have been a bit too big for her, in Neugieri's personal opinion.
N-not like she would ever say that to her, though!
"Excuse me for the intrusion, master!" The young woman said, straightening her back despite herself, and as always, feeling terrifically nervous. Mostly because the tidal wave of mana that radiated from her master never failed to make her feel incredibly small and inadequate. "I-it's just that I am done with the project you asked me to complete!"
"Don't phrase it as if I forced you to do the work," The Great Mage waved her off, as she lazily placed her bare feet on the throne, and put some nondescript grimoire aside, "It was a request, nothing more, that I thought would benefit your growth."
Neugieri blushed crimson at the reminder and at the insinuation. She just blamed her master for making her do work! She didn't mean to whine about it!
W-well, at least not to her!
A young woman with greenish hair stood straight at attention, but then, unable to take it, glanced away in embarrassment.
"Now, you've got me curious, let me have a look," The elf said, gesturing with a universal 'gimme' gesture.
Neugieri obeyed, approaching her in defeat, and handed up a sizable tome she painstakingly completed just recently, and carried here pressed against her chest.
"I've also brought some sweets from the market you like," Neugieri added, her voice growing cheerful despite herself, "With extra cinnamon, just like you prefer!"
"Never asked you for that," Her master waved her off lazily, "Sit down and grab something to read, I'll try to make sense of what you did here and see in what direction this should be improved."
"R-right!" Neugieri nodded, but left a small bag with sweets on the armrest of the throne.
Like always, the master ignored it.
Neugieri headed towards one of the guest chairs that, until the recent decades, might not have had any use in a century or more, and quickly found a familiar five-hundred-year-old atlas where her old bookmark was still lodged on the shelf nearby.
Picking it up, she sat down and tried to get comfortable. Keyword - tried.
As expected, ten minutes in or so, she heard the first crunch, and sneaked a glance towards her master, who was now absent-mindedly snacking on the cookies and other sweets she brought in.
The young lady, and Neugieri was decisively a lady, tried not to make any sounds or look too obvious, as she observed her short master adorably munching on the treats, completely breaking the terrifying impression she usually made with her horrifying mana and stern voice.
Neugieri was incredibly curious what the Great Mage Serie would have to say about her research, mostly because it genuinely took her over four years of work! Her master's requirements for proper procedures, annotations, and citations were insane even by the already very strict standards of Äußerst, but it was hard to complain when the insights Serie could give into any project could pick up on technical or theoretical errors no one else could spot after a few years of working on a project!
Neugieri would have to take a cart just to bring in all the reference material she used later, when her master would inevitably go into the technical details.
With a thunderous sound in the lingering silence of the Great Mage Serie's personal quarters, a heavy tome was closed shut.
Neugieri jumped on her seat despite herself, torn out of her thoughts rather suddenly, barely fighting down an urge to squeal in alarm.
Her master spared her a glance, sighed, and finished a cookie before licking her fingers of crumbs.
"You aren't as subtle as you probably think," She said blankly, making Neugieri shake her head in denial, "Stop staring. It's creepy. But more importantly,"
The elf glanced down at the book on her lap, and the following silence felt thundering as the Great Mage made her judgment.
"This is amazing work," She said after a few long seconds, before looking up at Neugieri, "I expected that much from Schimmer's descendant, but this," A small, and quite scary smile appeared on her master's cute doll-like face, "This will be worth adding in my own repertoire, I can already tell."
The elf sighed, stretching a bit in place, comfortably, relaxed, reminding Neugieri a whole lot of a sleepy lion.
"I will look through it more thoroughly later, seeing that you claim the spell to finally be functional, I will have to test it on monsters personally, but if this methodology actually allows constructing immersive illusions for monsters? That will change quite a lot." Her master tilted her head a bit, looking straight into Neugieri's eyes, "So, what do you want as a reward?"
Neugieri blinked slowly, completely taken aback. She was Serie's disciple, yes, the very first one in ages, but it's not like she could actually ask her master to teach her things that the Great Mage herself didn't deign to share!
There were legends about Serie, supposedly, giving out spells to some people who really impressed her, but Neugieri was halfway convinced those were just myths!
"I-I… honestly have no idea what to say?" Neugieri said awkwardly, tapping her fingers together and glancing aside, "S-sorry, I just don't know?!"
Master just sighed, shaking her head.
"Whatever, sleep on it, I suppose," The elf shot her a small, quite scary smirk. "Unfortunately, even I don't know any spells that would help with your self-confidence. None that will linger in a mental-mage of your caliber, in any case."
For a moment, Neugieri was taken aback, almost as physically struck. The first urge was to deny it, before she realized she was being teased.
The young woman did the only thing she could in this situation and pouted mightily.
Much to her heartless master's noticeable amusement, judging by her smirk and the twitched ears.
It's not her fault that she couldn't exactly act composed near, possibly, the strongest mage alive, okay?!
When any spell takes you months or years to learn, and your master can replicate it by merely reading a grimoire once… or sometimes just seeing it… How can you not feel a bit pathetic?! Especially seeing that her master's speciality wasn't even mental magic…
Though that also wasn't fair of her to even think. As far as Neugieri was concerned, absolutely every area of magic was her master's speciality to some extent.
It didn't help that she was the first apprentice chosen by this legendary mage in recorded history! People in the city above expected a lot from her and, well… Neugieri was just a normal girl! Becoming a disciple for a super-scary (and cute) ancient elf didn't suddenly make her an expert in every field, no matter what some of her friends might have thought!
"I suppose you can stay for tea," Neugieri blinked, hearing Series sigh, and glanced at the elf curiously, who already gestured for a table to be woven into existence, "Having you leave with nothing will be a bit of a waste."
Despite herself, Neugieri ignited with enthusiasm and nodded happily.
"O-of course, thank you!" She approached her master's throne, and when she did, a second armchair almost as big appeared behind her.
She sat down awkwardly, and her master summoned a couple of teacups, levitating them from somewhere. She then placed the Neugieri's remaining offering cookies between them on the table.
The tea appeared in the teacups as if by itself, but Neugieri knew it was actually two different spells woven so fast it felt like one. First to conjure water, second to turn it into the specific blend of tea that her master preferred.
Despite knowing how such things usually went by heart, choosing a topic to talk about was as awkward and horrifying as ever.
If there was one thing Neugieri learned over the years, it's that her master was, in all but magical power, a cat!
That is, you couldn't pet her unless she allowed it, and she came and went as she pleased she is an incredibly whimsical person who can get mad and tell you to leave if you just ask her about a wrong thing. Neugieri knew it very well because most of her first lessons ended just so!
Worse yet, Serie really wasn't the type of person to just tell you what she didn't like and why; she just expected you not to do it again. She preferred the sink or swim approach to training, too.
Which meant Neugieri had a very slim list of topics for conversations that she knew for certain won't ruin her master's good mood.
"You know, you are not the first one to stuff me with those while operating under the mistaken assumption that I enjoy them," Serie said, making Neugieri blink, as the elf slowly twisted a small cookie in the form of a dragon between her fingers.
The elf sighed, her ears cutely twitched, moving a bit down. Adorable.
"Honestly, this obsession of yours reminds me of her far too much, even if by every other metric you can't be more different." She mused, before throwing the dragon into her mouth absent-mindedly, and taking a big sip of tea, "She also constantly brought me sweets in odd forms whenever she visited, and would be incredibly annoying if I left them around…"
It was the introspective, far-off look that Neugieri rarely saw on her master, as she practically stared through the table, that got the younger woman's heart bleeding a bit.
It was odd. There was nothing on Serie's face that would speak of sorrow or regret, nothing that would even look like melancholy; her master just looked bored.
But knowing her for as long as Neugieri did, she knew she was in a rare, mopey mood now.
Neugieri also knew that if she brought it up, her master would get mad.
Some part of her wanted to ask if her complaining about sweets was more about preserving her cute figure, but she suspected that would actually get her killed.
"Can I ask who you are talking about?" Neugieri asked awkwardly.
Her master just glanced up at her and considered her for a long, agonizing second. Neugieri was already certain she had messed up and would be ordered to leave.
"It was a habit of a previous disciple of mine." She said, shaking her head, "Doesn't matter in any case, they are long dead. People being annoying in certain ways transcends ages, that's all there is to it." Serie's eyes suddenly sharpened, "More importantly, how is your progress with that barrier spe-..."
Her master suddenly cut herself off, glancing sharply towards the entrance.
The stone door once again opened, and a familiar, giant familiar flew through.
Neugieri sneaked a glance at her master, who looked both giddy and suddenly excited. That happened every time those specific packages arrived, she knew.
The courier in question was, as usual, massive. It carried a sizable black box with it.
Master casually gestured, and the box was separated by a familiar who let out an indignant 'CAAAAW!', and was promptly shushed.
"Yes, yes, good work as always, you know where the stable is," She waved the magical animal off, already inputting some complicated spell for the box to open up, revealing a treasure trove of books and, judging by the magic they gave out, grimoires.
Neugieri could swear she saw the mindless familiar give them both a deadpanned look before departing.
An envelope levitated across the room into her master's hand. Then there was a brief gesture that Neugieri knew was Serie's personal spell to decipher the message, and after a moment, she opened the envelope, levitating the first page out without any gestures or even spells Neugieri could feel.
A small smile that the elf probably wasn't aware of blossomed on her ever-youthful face.
Neugieri's eyes narrowed a little.
To most of Äußerst the sudden activity of the Great Mage was known to correlate with letters that arrived from a certain mage named A.
According to her father, who heard it from his father, their own ancestor Schimmer was the one who originally received the first letter. The contents were intriguing and confusing enough for him to share with the council, and the council offered those works to Serie, who wasn't very keen on receiving visitors at the time… but did occasionally when the council had something they thought would interest her.
No one expected the Great Mage to start exchanging letters regularly for well over… eighty years, by now? Perhaps more.
The changes in her behavior were also hard to miss. She actually requested several things from the Council and was seen ascending to the central library, not to even mention the custom ritual she cast on the city walls to guide those familiars directly to her underground mansion. Then there were her departures into the wilds that were noted a couple of times, and also became a subject of rumors long before Neugieri was born.
While the contents of the initial letter from A were known to the council, the later exchanges between the two mages weren't. But it wasn't exactly difficult to connect two and two; if someone picked an interest in a Great Mage of Serie's caliber, and made her actually become a little active again, the contents of the letters must have been groundbreaking.
When the first couple of works from 'A' were finally published, again, pretty much under Serie's orders, naturally, they became topics of heated discussions simply because of how they came to be. Their actual content, turning out to be groundbreaking and niche research previously unseen, which was still shaking the Äußerst and, supposedly, magical communities beyond, was another thing entirely.
Neugieri was kind of surprised that they were mainly monster studies and some non-magical sciences in those published works, as well as very detailed beastiaries. She would've never figured that her master was that interested in those topics.
Neugieri's feminine intuition suspected something else in play.
The way her master's eyes light up every time she received a letter, a small smile on her face as she engaged with them.
"Another letter from him?" She asked curiously, after getting up and going around the table, to peek from behind her master's shoulder.
A small palm suddenly pressed on Neugieri's cheek, pushing her away.
"This is private," Master looked up at her, unimpressed, "Get off my throne."
Neugieri pouted.
"But come on, you let me read those anyway!"
Her master looked at her with eyes full of millennia of sadness and disappointment in common humanity, and mumbled something about 'people these days' and 'manners'.
Neugieri could pinpoint the exact instance when she broke and gave up on arguing.
"Scurry over," She commanded finally, inviting her with two fingers.
Neugieri immediately and excitedly obliged; it was a bit of a tight squeeze, and the master's head had to rest on her chest, but overall, they were settled pretty quickly.
Her master mumbled something about 'too much' and 'never again', if she heard it right, not that she cared, devouring the initial greeting on the pages below.
"Huuuh, he is asking for you to check the library for him again!" Neugieri breathed out indignantly, puffing her chest, "It's too much, isn't it? It's the third time that year! Who does he think you are?!"
Her master sighed, pushing against her chest kinda painfully with one of her hands.
"Stop squirming," She commanded, annoyance clear in her tone, "Honestly, why are you only acting this brazen with me when it comes down to those letters?!"
Power of sweet, juicy gossip about her master's long-distance boyfriend! Not that she was brave enough to ever say that!
"Besides, it's fine. I don't mind doing that much," Serie hummed, extracting the second page of the message from the envelope, "Even just those attack spells from the mythical era he shared would have been enough if this were a mere trade. Double so considering…" She trailed off, getting deeper into the reading, and seemingly losing a train of thought.
"Considering…?" Neugieri prompted, barely holding herself back from gushing openly.
"Considering he is also my apprentice," The elf glanced up, and Neugieri had to move her head a bit forward to see her master's face below her breasts. "Don't ask dumb questions you know the answers to, you are being annoying."
Her words brought Neugieri's thoughts to a sudden stop.
"Also your… apprentice…? Since when… eh, exactly?"
Serie just waved her question away.
"Does it matter? It just happened at one point. It doesn't even matter if he doesn't consider me his master; I already decided that he is my apprentice in all but name. Now stop shifting, my head is bouncing way too much." She ordered with a cute grumbling undertone, "I already allow you way too much frivolity as is, so keep quiet and still for five minutes."
Neugieri, however, barely listened; she was deeply shocked by the development.
She knew that her master's sudden change of attitude was caused by this A. She also knew, from previous discussions, that her master couldn't care less what sort of man he was, what he was doing, and such, 'as long as he kept growing as a mage'.
It was weird.
For some reason, her master was super respectful of his anonymity and accepted his refusals to come to Äußerst (the offer was sent every other letter when Serie got excited), and Neugieri didn't find it strange, because she just thought her master found the mystery hot and didn't want to ruin it! It's not like Neugieri had any idea how elves flirted, so it must be that, right?
But this… this changed everything! Was this man just taking advantage of her master's kindness (and her adorable, innocent crush) all along?!
Slowly, with the strongest mage in the world sitting on her lap, a daring plan formed in Neugieri's head. The plan involved a tracking spell and making some shameless male elf pay for playing with her master's maidenly heart!
Serie must be totally defenseless on that front with her shut-in tendencies, and must be protected at any cost! There is no one else but her who could!
***
A few years prior,
In Central Lands.
Knitting was a strangely meditative, yet satisfying work.
Initially, I picked it up as a necessity, back when I wasn't able to conjure clothing with mana alone. It was also good practice for picking up skills for which I was given guidance in my previous life, but never truly practiced.
Nowadays, I can't truly justify it in any practical way. Every piece of clothing I wore was conjured with mana alone. There wasn't really a need to create something from wool.
The shout comes from somewhere in the middle of the chained procession trailing behind Behemoth.
"Oi! You bloody nancy boy!" Insistent and annoying in equal measure. "Turn yer fuckin' head and look at us! Think yer so high and mighty with them rock puppets? You got us on pure dumb luck, that's what! Soon as we get to town, they'll spring us loose in a heartbeat. Won't even warm the cell bench, we won't. Our boss'll flash his gold teeth and we'll be out before sunset. But you? You won't make it two steps outta them gates, you pig-fuckin' bastard! They'll cut yer balls off, if you even got any, then shove a red-hot poker up yer arse till it comes out yer throat!"
Unfortunate as it is, being a demon, I couldn't ignore them. Every word was recognized and thought over. My mana sense and hearing were more than enough to estimate who was speaking.
In other words, despite not needing to do that, I was perfectly aware of them at all times.
"We'll tear you apart soon as you send them golems away! What, too yellow to face us alone, you scrawny git? Pissin' yourself, are ya? Without them walking rocks, you're nothing but dogshit! One-on-one, we'd pass you around like a two-copper whore, and you'd be beggin' for more! All you got is them stone freaks, without 'em you're nobody, less than nobody, just roadkill waitin' to happen!"
I felt one of them approach closer to the carriage, near one of the two golems who were accompanying the marching cuffed men. There was a reason he was at the head of the procession; this particular man seemed to have had some genuine warrior training, and as such was superhumanly strong, even if not by much.
I heard him shout 'YOU'RE FUCKED' as he moved, his chains rattling, likely trying to climb the cart, and break the chains all at once.
But those were the mildly enchanted chains I used to contain struggling monsters. He stood no chance. As he tried to scramble onto the wagon, the nearest golem, without any input from me, took one massive step and caught him.
That, naturally, prompted a wide array of curses, encouraging shouts, threats, and such from the rest.
Yet, I enjoyed knitting nonetheless. The process was very methodical and slow, required attention and careful planning, and built upon itself. It made sense. It reminded me of how spells are woven.
Still, something in me rebelled against creating useless things, so, for instance, the coachmen's seats of the Behemoth were covered in decorated pillows and surfaces I've woven. I even applied water-repelling enchantment on them so that the weather wouldn't ruin them.
They quieted down when their leader suddenly barked.
"Shut yer gobs, you worthless maggots! Nobody gave you shitstains permission to speak! How dare you disrespect this gentleman of fine standing? Shut, the lot of you!"
The others did go silent.
The procession of prisoners was fixed by a single chain attached to the back of Behemoth, and that chain also connected one prisoner to another by their cuffs.
Still, I could feel the leader approach as much as he could, fixed near the end of the procession as he had been.
"Most esteemed captor, ahem, I don't know your proper name, sir, but you see, I understand your position and your desire for justice, and I deeply apologize for my men's behavior. But as captain of the Savage Wolves, I can assure you things aren't quite as they appear. We're bandits, yes, but we're working for a noble cause, with connections in the region. For years, this fine city has suffered under greedy neighbors' taxes and shoddy imported goods. As patriots, and I myself was born there, we rob only the dishonest merchants who gouge honest folk, you understand, right? We have friends who'd be happy to help a powerful and just mage such as yourself, eh? Release us, and I promise we'll set you up proper: we've got judges and guardsmen in our pocket. You'll get citizenship, the finest lodgings, and a workshop for your studies, easy! We'll get you any position you want, introduce you to all the right people. Perfect for a man of your talent! And even if not, well, I know what it's like being different, I mean, look at me!"
Judging by the distinct rattle of chains from his position, he must have gestured. "Ain't normal, am I? They never liked me neither. But you! A mage, powerful, mysterious! People'll have questions, and common folk here ain't too bright. Might burn down your workshop, and the guards, the pigs they are, might help 'em do it! Your books, your home, all ash! But with our word and sharp steel backing you, Master mage, everyone'll know not to cross you."
He quieted down, perhaps expecting some sort of reaction. For a while, the blissful silence reigned.
"I got a daughter in town, pretty as a spring morning! Just say the word and I'll arrange the match. She'll be a good wife, obedient, knows her place, keeps a tidy house!"
"We know about this wizard's hut on the outskirts, full of magical things! Folks say it used to belong to a legendary hermit who lived around 'ere, and we can show where! We know the secret paths. Bet you'd find somethin' useful there!"
Again, blissful silence, interrupted only by nature, the creak of wheels, the rhythmic steps of golems, and the rattling of chains.
"You fuckin' bastard! Thick-headed mule! Can't you see a good deal when it's danglin' in front of your face? Let us go and we'll make you rich! Don't be a complete fuckin' moron, at least listen, don't ignore us like a drooling village idiot!"
Then there were the dolls I made and gave away for free in some of the villages I visited. Those, too, I knitted. With Behemoth avoiding major hubs of civilization wasn't practical anymore, as the last thirty years have proven, while I was running around the Northern Lands chasing specific monsters.
I felt nothing giving away things of my own creation; however, it was satisfying that the fruits of my work weren't merely thrown away. The fact that it helped endear me to people in the settlements I passed through might have also struck something with my demonic being, but emotional satisfaction wasn't the goal.
Creating ultimately useless but challenging knitted dolls was a diverting challenge. I even made a few progressively better, if cartoony by the nature of being made from wool, dolls of Frieren. Children loved them.
There was a brief period of hushed talks between them that I didn't care to enhance my senses to listen to.
Then the rattling of chairs and swears from a few men who were tagged along by whoever moved forward.
"Please, kind sir, just let me go, just me! I know they're all lyin' to you, I know I sinned against the Goddess herself, but look at 'em; they're all grown thugs! I had no choice, I was starvin', me family was starvin'! I got pulled into this out of need, not want! I got a ma and pa, I got a village. I swear on the Holy Scriptures, I'll go back, make everything right, atone for all me sins, work honest from dawn to dusk! I'll even help you turn in these bastards, tell 'em guards about everything—"
Predictably, shouts of anger erupted, and the mana signatures of others started approaching the younger bandit.
The Behemoth had to stop, not to drag their bodies across the paved road.
"FUCKING RAT! YOUR WHORE MOTHER SUCKED OFF EVERY HORSE IN THE VILLAGE! YOUR SISTER'S CUNT'S WIDE AS A BARN DOOR!" They started beating him, even as the golems moved in, starting to yank the men from each other with their inhuman strength.
One remained lying on the ground, weeping. The one who showered my back with promises.
"Please let me go, PLEASE BE HUMANE SIR!"
Lowering my knitting needles, I glanced back for a brief moment.
Annoyance was a constant companion when dealing with those types, and it wasn't nearly as bad this time. I only had to oversee them for the second day this far.
They only got this agitated when they realized we are almost in the Valley.
I jumped down, ignoring the angered shouts of chained men attempting to pass by the golems, and the ones who fell because they were yanked by the chains connected to those who decided to jump the youngest of the bunch.
Some quieted down as they saw me; most didn't notice.
With an effort of will, I've woven a spell, and one golem each from the other carts detached, approaching the scene.
A staff appeared in my hand in a flash of light, and from Behemoth's compartment, which I accessed with telekinesis, I fished out several handmade pillows.
Approaching one of the golems, I considered it, trying to figure out where best to attach them.
Nodding to myself, I've woven a few instances of the folk spell that makes objects stick to each other, and proceeded to pad the golems.
Then I had them approach the nervous bandits, some of whom were begging for mercy, others throwing around threats, and had the constructs pick them up, two or three each.
The humans were mostly nestled between the attached pillows, though there were some rough spots. It would serve, I believe. The issue with most of the hauling golems that I used to drag around carts and carriages was that they lacked any sort of dampening. Riding on them could likely bruise and rattle a human pretty severely, because they were massive, each step produced a lot of energy, and the stone absorbed almost none of the impact, which ended up traveling to the rider.
It's like riding a galloping horse, but worse.
As the chains between the cuffs were broken and the swearing men were brought up and attached to the golems, I nodded to myself.
"Shut up, all of you," I told them simply, tilting my head, "I will shove rugs in your mouths if you will continue with this nonsense."
A few didn't heed my warning.
Seeing that I was already here, I spent a few minutes fixing gags into their mouths using some spare and relatively clean rags I had around. A few attempted to jump me or otherwise resist, but cuffed as they were, with my golems nearby and me more than being aware of the possibility, subduing them proved a non-issue.
That seemed to lead to most of the scum being silent.
Measuring them with one last long look, I returned to the coachman's seat and commanded the remaining golems to start moving once more.
I had half a mind to return to knitting, as the Schattenbrand doll was almost complete. And I knew how much children adored the knitted dolls of monsters.
But I've felt no urge to do that; whatever pieces of inspiration I had were gone with the last unpleasantness.
Instead, I glanced around at the tall mountains around the road I've been traveling. The road was now much wider and sturdier, and the surrounding forests, which were still well managed, not to obscure visibility too much, seemed familiar.
This mountain path was almost as I remembered it, if a bit better developed. The stone bridges were a bit wider, as was the road, and I've passed several other carts while traveling, even had to explain the procession traveling behind me.
It was hard to believe it had been nearly sixty years since I had seen this scenery last. A human lifetime. It didn't feel like one to me. If anything, even without Resonant Soul, I recognized many details of the surroundings easily enough.
Once again, I considered how truly short a human life is.
For a while, the travel was only interrupted by the usual noise on the road and the small talk the prisoners made.
Then, I felt it. Mana signatures, approaching leisurely. Likely patrolling. They moved from the valley, so inevitably towards my 'caravan'.
In a few minutes, I saw them, armoured men, and unsurprisingly, women, riding towards us. Naturally, I ordered the golems to stop.
I counted seven riders in total, their formation disciplined even on the mountain road, which was a rarity I was used to seeing in Lisch's construct, not naturally lazy people prone to complacency.
The enchantments on their equipment were subtle but well-crafted, layers of reinforcement and sharpening, even climate control. A century ago, this type of gear would have been fit for nobles.
But magic has gone far. Nowadays, most adventurers and well-funded forces could afford such.
The leader's sword in particular was a step beyond that, something between a standard edge enhancement and a more complex cutting spell with elemental effects. Professional work, expensive, by my estimates.
They were all riding the monster-horses. Organic monsters, that is, mutated breeds that, last I checked, were quite expensive to own. It may have changed this century, I couldn't be sure. For obvious reasons, I wasn't too invested in the mount's market.
They slowed as they approached, hands moving to weapons but not drawing them.
The caution was more than expected.
"Hold there," the leader called out, raising a hand. He couldn't have been past thirty, clean-shaven and with a formal bearing and an air of command. "I'm Captain Hanseln of the Sturmkamm Valley Guard. State your business."
"Those are the bandits who attempted to rob me two days from here, on the northern tract," I said, getting straight to the point and gesturing back at the procession. "I was bringing them over to give to the authorities of the land."
Hanseln's eyes swept over the chained men, pausing when they reached the gagged figure mounted on one of the padded golems. Recognition flickered across his face.
"Is that..." He urged his horse closer, squinting. "By the Goddess, that's Axt the Savage."
The bandit leader, despite his gag, attempted to shake his head vigorously, making muffled protests through the cloth. Several of the ungagged prisoners immediately began shouting.
"Don't listen to this freak! He's a slaver, look at us!"
"We're innocent traders, he attacked us on the road!"
"Check his cart for chains and cages, you'll see what he really is!"
"He's got dark magic, controls those things, he's planning something in, believe us! He is a demon, no doubt!"
Hanseln's expression didn't change. One of his riders, a pretty, attractive woman with a scar across her jaw, actually laughed.
"Innocent traders," she repeated, approaching one of the prisoners who was still held up by a golem, and tore part of his shirt off. "Right. And I suppose that boy here just happens to have the Wolves' brand on his neck by accident?"
The youngest bandit, the one who'd been begging earlier, tried to shrink into himself.
"Captain, this man is clearly a necromancer of some sort," the leader's second in command tried, his voice taking on a reasonable tone. "Those constructs, they're unnatural. We were defending ourselves when he..."
"When he what?" Hanseln asked mildly. "Defended himself against twenty armed men? Bösartig, I believe, I've got three warrants for your arrest just from this season. Your 'innocent trading company' burned a merchant family's wagon not two weeks past." He turned back to me. "You have our gratitude, master mage. The Savage Wolves have been a plague on these roads for years. By the time we can react to their attacks, they run with their tail between their legs, and we don't have enough men to conduct a proper hunt. With the war up South and such, I am sure you are aware." The man looked genuinely annoyed, "I have to ask, however, why did you bother dragging them around for days? If it's the reward you are after, their heads alone would have sufficed." He sounded more curious than judgmental as he studied me from below.
"The killing of bandits is permissible because transporting them anywhere for a proper trial is usually impossible for whoever was lucky enough to repel the attack," I offered in response, glancing at the man in the eyes. "I face no such difficulty, so it's only right to let qualified people conduct proper justice and punish them by the letter of the law and proportionately to their transgressions, rather than have me serve as a judge, jury, and executioner." I paused briefly before admitting, "I have yet to kill a man, Captain, I am not willing to take that sin upon my soul just because I don't wish to be inconvenienced for a few days."
"Scratch the transporting, subduing so many in a fight without killing," The woman by the captain's side muttered apprehensively, shaking her head in wonder, "That's quite incredible, master mage. Never heard of anyone going through this much trouble for the scum."
I merely shrugged, allowing the gesture consciously.
"It isn't the first bandit group to try their luck. This time, at least, the attack was close enough to a city that I wouldn't have to make a detour." I glanced back towards my golems for a moment.
I saw the other men-at-arms checking the chains and how well the prisoners were secured, and maybe gawking at the golems a little bit.
I then turned back towards the pair who stopped to talk with me, realizing after a moment why I was seeing their expectant gazes.
"My name is Albert," I said, removing my hood, "Traveling mage, as I am sure you gathered."
My name and my appearance seemed to prompt some recognition in them.
The woman and the captain, both, and a few guardsmen who overheard.
"Wait, you mean you are that Elven Hero whose statue is in the center of Sturmkamm City?!" She blurted out first, making me blink.
"That old thing is still there?" I asked evenly, "I am surprised." I harboured an unrealistic hope that it would be destroyed in a landslide of some sort.
Both humans seemed to be gathering themselves a bit. For whatever reason, it seems I was still known in those lands.
"Is Berg still around?" I eventually asked, more curious than anything.
"Yes, yes, sir, I believe he is." The captain said, finally managing to brace himself.
"Even if Burgermeister would've wanted otherwise," The woman mumbled under her breath.
"Are you going to accompany me?" I asked simply, tilting my head, "Or search the carts?"
The captain slowly nodded. I could see him snapping back to attention.
"It's best that we come with you, so you won't encounter any difficulties with the rangers." There was also another reason; he probably didn't wish for any of the bandits to escape, and wanted to take a precaution. "As for searching your cargo, it's not our place. It may happen at the city gates, however."
I slowly nodded.
I've heard about it. Sturmkamm Mining Town wasn't a town anymore.
"Then we'd best get going. I would like to get there before dawn," I offered.
No one present, except for the whining bandits, seemed against the idea.
***
The Steinerner Hammer stood three stories tall at the heart of Sturmkamm's merchant quarter, its foundation stones worn smooth by a century of boots trampling upon it and wagon wheels. Smoke from a dozen hearths mingled with the scent of roasting meat and spilled ale, the ancient timbers overhead blackened from generations of pipe smoke and cooking fires. Every beam bore the marks of dwarven craftsmanship, carved with interlocking geometric patterns that seemed to flow like water when firelight caught them just right.
The main hall stretched wide enough to hold two hundred souls without feeling cramped, its vaulted ceiling supported by stone pillars that predated most of the surrounding city. Long tables of dark oak filled the center space, their surfaces polished to a shine by countless elbows and tankards, while more intimate booths lined the walls beneath oil lamps housed in crystal that cast warm, golden light across faces flushed with drink and good cheer.
The noise was tremendous. Merchants haggled over deals, miners celebrated the end of their shifts, and travelers shared tales that grew grander with each telling. Serving girls, mostly dwarven but with a few humans among them, wove between tables with practiced grace, balancing impossible loads of steins and platters. Behind the massive bar of polished granite, three dwarven brothers worked in perfect synchronization, drawing ale from barrels older than some noble houses.
The private alcoves on the second level overlooked this controlled chaos through carved wooden screens, offering both privacy and a commanding view of the hall below. Each booth had its own small hearth and thick curtains that could be drawn for more sensitive conversations, though the general din from below provided its own kind of discretion.
The acoustics were such that the overall noise from the floor below sounded dimmer and wasn't too obstructive here.
I wondered absent-mindedly if some enchantments were in play, but doubted it. Magic was rarely used in construction ever since the Mythical Era, and besides, I couldn't feel anything of that sort.
My sensitivity has been a bit lower ever since I implemented the physical solution to the horns, but not to the point of rendering me helpless. The lack of pain also helped a great deal with managing the mood swings of my vessel.
Growing the horns back was a matter of removing some artificial constructs lodged into my core to block their existence.
It's ridiculous how many years it took to implement even a solution this crude and stopgap. But I wasn't willing to operate on my own core with any sort of permanence in mind.
Just like with a human body, everything in the core is intertwined. I knew where the emotional core of my being was located, and I roughly understood what was responsible for, say, a sense of anger. But removing it risks running into an uncountable number of dangers and complications, and that's if I were to assume that the operation itself goes smoothly.
No, any sort of actual, tangible change to my core would require the re-structuring of the majority of it, precisely because it is akin to a human brain, hormonal system, nervous system, and every other organ put together.
The solution I was using now was a stopgap measure derived from my core-fragment merging and transplantation experiments. I tested it thoroughly on many monsters, and one or two weak demons I stumbled upon further up in the North.
I blinked, noticing a familiar figure approaching the table.
His build was mostly familiar; stocky and broad, with thick arms and a barrel chest. But the red beard and hair were now mostly grey. Iron rings were still braided into his beard, which was now, somehow, even lusher and fuller.
I stood up from my seat, much to the confusion of both Hanseln, and his second in command, Greifen. The woman with the scar who got drunk a bit too soon.
Both of them were a bit too absorbed in their own discussion about siege tactics to notice the new arrival.
"Berg," I greeted, trying to memorize the details of his face and build. He didn't carry his signature weapon with him anymore, it seemed. "You are well preserved."
"Albert," The dwarf grunted, getting closer, "Still as soft looking as ever, and lackin' any bit o' tact."
I passed the table, facing the dwarf head-on. We stood opposite to each other for a brief moment.
For a few moment, we simply stared each other down.
Then the dwarf started to laugh. Joyfully and honestly.
Feeling awkward, I allowed the elderly person to hug me. Awkwardly patting him on the back, I think I heard my back crack.
"It really is ye! Can't believe ye're still the same as ye ever were!" Then he released me quickly, however, stepping back, and scrutinizing me with a look, "Ye bastard, fifty-eight years and I didn't receive a single letter from ye! Not one!"
I could hear Hanseln choke on ale in the background, and this time, probably, not because Greifen got handsy.
"I've seen ye send them oversized chickens o' yers with letters before, so don't ye be tellin' me ye couldn't have." He said, glaring up at me.
I just tilted my head.
"I am terrible at small-talk and with checking up on people via letters," I admitted. Even in my past life, I absolutely despised contacting relatives by phone and talking about how each of us was doing. There are some people for whom such things are effortless, but not for me. "I also was busy, though that is hardly an excuse," I admitted. "If it's truly an issue, I apologize, I failed to consider it's something you would care about."
Berg measured me with a long, scrutinizing look. Then the man sighed.
"I s'pose ye're the same as I remember, for good or for ill." He turned towards one of the serving girls who was leaving from another table, "Lass, bring some Eiseneiche from my personal stash… nay, scratch that, tell Stout to fetch it. Ye're a bit too scrawny for haulin' barrels'."
The girl, who was very much eavesdropping, stood straight as a road immediately.
"A-ah y-yes, no problem, Master Berg! I will do so posthaste!" She shot one more glance towards me, both appreciating and curious, before retreating.
I took a few steps back and sat back down. I didn't recognize the ale he referenced, but judging by how proud he was ordering it, it must be something else.
"Master Berg, is it?" I hummed, picking up my mostly untouched mug of ale. It was pretty good. "You must have lost a fortune here for them to call you that, and to have your 'personal collection'."
The dwarf who sat opposite me barked out a laugh, shaking his head. The metal rings in his beard clinked quietly.
"Ye've no idea how right ye are!" He pointed a thumb at himself, grinning, "Ye're lookin' at the proud owner o' Steinerner Hammer—finest tavern in all the Central lands." There was genuine pride in his tone.
This did take me aback for a moment.
"I thought it belonged to your uncle?" Wordlessly and almost instantaneously, I cast a Resonant Soul upon myself three separate times, back to back, "Twice removed, Kallus, I believe his name is."
Berg just shook his hand.
"Not is, Albert—was. Passed away not long after ye left." He said with a tone of a man who long since got over the grief, though a melancholic look did briefly appear on him, "Kidneys gave out on 'im, so they say." He said, stealing my mug shamelessly, and draining it dry in a few long gulps, "Who could've known?"
I stared at him for a moment.
His face was as if etched from stone. I genuinely wasn't sure if he was messing with me or if the choice of words was incidental.
It could have been both.
"He was a fine dwarf," I told him after a moment, "I remember him helping me to secure some deals."
Berg barked out a laugh at that.
"That he did. Skimmed a bit off the top, sure, but 'twas naught compared to what ye'd have lost tryin' to haggle by yerself. Ye're terrible at it." I was more then aware on account of both of his statements, of course. "Most o' the old guard are like me now." He said, striking his belly with his palm, "Grey, wrinkled, and put out to pasture. Either that, or dead."
I merely furrowed my brows.
"So you are a hundred and ninety-one. Would that make you push into your fifties, if you are a human? Late forties, even." I mused, after doing some mental maths, "Hardly an age of retirement for a warrior."
The dwarf chuckled humorlessly.
"Well, ye ain't wrong. 'Tis a messy business, but the short of it is: the current Burgermeister didn't like how the guard, the adventurers, and the clans all listened to me 'stead o' him." The warrior shrugged, "With his predecessors, we had an understandin' and worked together. TTimes were hard, plenty o' mess to clear, and no time for holdin' grudges. But that kid? Hated how I did things. After a year, 'twas plain we couldn't work together, and I weren't lookin' for an enemy." He gestured down at himself, "So, retired."
He did sound a bit bitter about the subject, but not too much. Then again, it was genuinely difficult to tell what Berg felt most of the time. Most of his face and body being hidden by the beard certainly contributed to that.
"Burgermeister is responsible for many… questionable decisions," Henseln spoke up, making both me and my old friend turn to him, "He is thoroughly convinced that Sturmkamm Valley… no, every valley in the mountain range is safe as they are, that the prosperity we enjoy isn't in danger. I had to let go of many good men and women in recent years because I am not given the coin to pay them fairly," The captain said, his expression stony. "Most equipment of any worth that we use is either old or gifted."
"Like the horsies~!" The very much drunk Greifen said, "Di… ditch… did you know that most of the horses we use were donated by the captain from his family's ranch?" She asked, giggling, "He is an amazing man like that, our captain!"
I blinked slowly, processing the information.
Berg, however, laughed.
"Ah, Hanseln! It's been a long road, kid. Hardly recognized ye." He said, switching his attention to the younger man, "Captain now, eh? Aye, I knew ye had it in ya."
The knight just chuckled awkwardly in an oddly familiar fashion, scratching the back of his head.
"Master Berg, sorry for not visiting for a while. You know how it is with me and alcohol and… well, it wouldn't have looked good for the Burgermeister's men if I came around." He said weakly.
The dwarf just shook his head.
"Aye, I know ye're a lightweight, but 'tis just how things are, can't do nothin' about that." He pointed with his thumb towards me without even spring a glance. "Unlike this knife-eared bastard, ye had yer reasons and ye played it smart. Ahnungslos' men have been snoopin' about, tryin' to see if I'm hatchin' a conspiracy in my cellar."
I didn't react to the jab, even though I knew he would passive-aggressively point towards my supposed misgiving for the next year or so. Like he always did.
"Should I be worried? About this Ahnungslos the Burgermeister?" I asked simply.
Berg turned towards me and measured me with a look. Then he started to laugh.
"Y-ye?" He wheezed out, "The man cares for naught but his own power. He's a coin-pinchin' fool, far too greedy for a man sat on a heap o' gold in the wilds. But it'll take one look at ye for 'im to see ye want naught to do with power, or folk in general. Ye ain't no threat."
If there was one thing I grew to learn while living in this area, it is that I can trust Berg's words explicitly. So while I did raise an eyebrow to show my confusion, I didn't doubt his words.
"Master Berg says the truth, Master Albert," Hanseln, however, wasn't as apt at reading my cues, and immediately went out of his way to reassure me, "If you are to return to your dwelling, there hardly would be a problem. Dornpass Valley is beyond his direct power in any case." Did everyone know about my previously well-hidden dwelling in this age?
Berg just chuckled, shaking his head, and turning towards the approaching tavern girl, who seemed to be bringing a… barrel, and several mugs. This wasn't the human girl who took his order initially. This one was a dwarf, Stout, I assumed.
Fitting name.
Dwarven women were… something else.
I nodded to the others at the table in the meantime.
"And yet this man is responsible for… defensive funding for the entire mountain range?" I tried to make sense of it.
The truth of the matter was that the Donnergipfel Mountain Range, where Sturmkamm Valley, Dornpass Valley, and a few other valleys were located, had a number of settlements according to the latest maps.
Back in my day, the best you had were some remote mines and dwarven villages. But from what I gathered, many of those have turned into towns by now.
Donnergipfel Mountain Range was shaping up to become a small region in its own right. A rich one at that.
"I-it's 'cuz the Stum- Storm- Sturmkamm City is the gates of the mountain range," Greifen said, wobbling a bit in place, as she pressed herself practically into the Hanseln's side, "All the money passes through here, so we defend 'em."
I slowly nodded before glancing at the two men.
"Weren't there other trails and roads?" Not into Sturmkamm Valley itself, but into one of the valleys in the range, at least.
Whatever answer I might have received was interrupted by a serving girl.
"Here it is!" She glanced towards Berg, who nodded to her. The girl beamed a smile, and with practiced ease, cracked open a barrel with her bare hands (fingers to be precise), and started to fill up the mugs. "Eiseneiche ale! Tis' a…"
Berg suddenly spoke up.
"Don't ruin the surprise, Stout," He told her firmly, "Just serve the ale, will ye?"
The girl nodded understandingly and did just that. She placed a mug in front of everyone, before beaming me a smile.
"One for ye, too, handsome!"
I didn't really know how to answer that, so I simply nodded, much to Berg's growing amusement.
When she left, I glanced down at the mug.
"What's the trick this time?" I asked, my voice even.
Berg didn't react, only silently radiating amusement.
"No tricks. Enjoy and savour it." I measured the dwarf sitting opposite me with a look. Slowly, I brought up the mug, never taking my eyes off him. He still didn't react. I glanced at Hanseln, who was just looking at the two of us curiously, seemingly as clueless as I was.
I looked at the dwarf one last time.
To be fair, he never gave me anything awful on purpose. The worst I remember is the one that was spicy to the point it was difficult to swallow even for me.
"Let's see," I said, bringing the mug higher and doing just that.
The first thing that registered was the color as I tilted the mug slightly, watching the liquid catch the firelight. Deep amber with hints of copper, perfectly clear despite its age, with a creamy head that clung to the glass in intricate lacing patterns. The visual presentation alone would have scored highly in any competition I dimly recalled from my past life.
The aroma hit next, complex layers unfolding with practiced precision that my demonic physiology registered as mere chemical signatures rather than pleasure. Rich caramel malts formed the backbone, supported by notes of toasted oak, dried fruit, perhaps fig or date, with a subtle hint of vanilla and molasses. There was something else, a faint earthy quality that suggested aging in actual oak casks rather than the cheaper methods. My knowledge catalogued it as excellent while my senses merely recorded data points.
"What is he doing?" Hanseln asked, which I ignored.
"Shh. It's the whole thing." Berg responded with familiar amusement.
The first sip revealed a medium-to-full body with surprisingly refined carbonation, neither too aggressive nor too flat. The initial sweetness of caramel and toffee rolled across my tongue, followed by a warming alcohol presence that my estimates placed around eight to nine percent by volume. The mid-palate brought forward subtle hop bitterness, perfectly balanced against the residual sweetness, with hints of dark chocolate and coffee emerging. The finish was long, warming, with lingering notes of oak and a pleasant dryness that invited another sip.
I found myself conducting the full evaluation ritual from habit: the way the liquid coated the glass, the perfect attenuation suggesting complete fermentation, the absence of any off-flavors like diacetyl or oxidation. By every objective measure I could apply, this was masterwork brewing. If far too strong for normal beer, the kind of ale that would have won medals, that aficionados would travel considerable distances to sample.
"What's the verdict?" Berg asked with a wide smile, once I opened my eyes, "What do ye think?"
"I think you have outdone yourself this time," I told him seriously, nursing the drink, "It's beautifully crafted, the texture is peerless, the colouring and smell are amazing, and there are undertones to this perfection I don't remember anything else matching."
"Glad ye think so highly o' my youngest." He said with a solemn nod, "Now I'll have to kill ye."
I froze, processing his words.
"So that serving girl…?" I tried.
Berg nodded.
"Aye, my own blood." He turned to Hanseln, "And that's how ye make ol' Albert lose his grip on the world. Used to love seein' it once a year. Ask 'im what it tastes like, and he'll start singin' ye a damn poem. Bloody comedy, it is." He said, pointing at me like I was a landmark he was advertising to tourists.
"Glad you can find some amusement out of interacting with me," I eyed the human woman who was currently chugging the whole mug. "Captain, you may want to stop her. This is pretty strong."
The man immediately grew alarmed and started to try to wrestle the mug out of her hands with reassuring, calming words.
She seemed to be adamant to not let him take away the delicious ale. I sort of understood them both in this situation.
I sipped from my own mug, observing them, mostly to make sure none of the plates on the table would fly my way.
"Yer in a much better mood these days," Berg addressed me, his expression serious, but not solemn, as he studied me, "It looks good on ye."
Come to think of it, Berg only interacted with me when I was in pain, with my horns cut, and before I developed this much of a tolerance to settlements.
I still hated it here, but it was a shimmering resentment now, rather than a brightly burning sense of suppressed rage and a wish to lash out.
"Some things changed," I acknowledge with the same quiet tone as his, just below the usual conversational volume, "Many stayed the same. It's the usual."
Berg slowly nodded at that.
"So, did ye finish what ye set out to do, then?" He asked simply.
I considered his question for a moment.
"I am closer, but not there yet. Not anywhere near." I admitted, "I came back because some things changed, so there was a reason to return for now. And to make sure my house is still standing."
Berg looked offended.
"'Course it's still standin'! I check on the place once a month myself. I gave ye a promise, Albert, and that ain't the sort o' thing a proper dwarf goes forgettin'." He shook his head, "I s'pose ye won't be stayin' long, then?"
To that, I gave him a small smile, shaking my head.
"On the contrary. For a while, I need to settle-"
I managed to move to the side just in time for the jug with olive oil to fall, spilling across my side of the table.
Currently, Greifen was on top of Hanseln and trying to get him free of his shirt, as the man, just as his second in command, left their armour behind and dressed casually, before accompanying me to meet Berg.
She tore his shirt open, and a… crystal of magically active ore fell out. An oddly familiar one, with engravings I recognized.
For a moment, I froze.
"Greifen," I called out, a subtle spell of mental magic filling my voice. She turned around, glancing at me drunkenly, "Sleep." I commanded.
The girl, drunk as she was, couldn't resist the mental suggestion and did just so.
Hanseln, who looked incredibly flustered and uncomfortable just a moment before, carefully caught her before she could fall off and brought her to her own seat before shooting me a grateful and apologetic look.
"I am so sorry for her behavior; Greifen is usually nothing like this. But she was a little nervous being around you, and seemed to have forgotten how strong dwarven ale tends to be, if not watered down," He explained awkwardly, still a bit scarlet, but his words were curt and professional despite the situation.
The piece of mana-reactive ore was pretty common, but not in this region was still there, attached to his chest via a thin chain, like an amulet or memento of some sorts.
I cast a Resonant Soul on myself, and I was certain.
"This amulet, where do you get it?" I asked him directly.
The man glanced down at his chest before bringing up a crystal that used to be on top of the staff I crafted in Tiefholz. It fell off during my battle with the Spiegels and forced me to craft a new staff here.
"This thing?" He asked, looking confused, "A family memento. I am not sure about its origins, but it's been passed down in my family for a while. Probably for as long as we were making our fortune from horse breeding, after my family moved from somewhere in the south." He said, glancing up at me, "Why do you ask?"
I simply shook my head.
"Never mind that." I said, resting back on my seat, "I was curious why someone would hold onto a piece of cheap ore, but a family memento is as good an explanation as any." I said, concealing the truth to an extent, as nothing better came to mind to redirect his attention
I will have to repent for that.
Still, Hanseln, is it? The ways of God are unfathomable indeed.
"More importantly," Berg attracted my attention by coughing into his fist, ""Albert... did I hear ye wrong, or did ye just say ye were here to stay?"
I turned back to the dwarf, nodding.
"Not sure for how long, but probably a few decades at least. That being said," I trailed off, a bit unsure, "I am not certain I should return to my previous lodging."
Berg looked stupefied at that, blinking owlishly.
"Why not?"
I considered him for a moment before leaning forward.
"Tell me, Berg… how can I go about opening a learning facility for mages?"
And now, for the first time in a while, I saw Berg's eyes open wide in shock.
That memory, too, I will catalogue to view once I become a human.
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Author Notes: The chapter was chunky.
It features some answers to your questions. Also, some new developments.
The bandits' bantering was written with tremendous help from a friend of mine, who beta-reads this; I could never catch a vibe of conversation like this.
As always, next chapter on Patreon.