My Daughter Left the Nest and Returned an S-Rank Adventurer: Short Story Collection E-Book

MOJIKAKIYA

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Club
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: My Daughter Left the Nest and Returned an S-Rank Adventurer
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 452

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

A collection of all the short stories released from volumes 1 to 11! Furthermore, Mojikakiya-sensei reflects on his work on the series in “Revisiting S-Rank Daughter,” including behind-the-scenes insights into the development of many characters, early ideas, the origins of certain names, and more—a veritable treasury of bonus data for the fans! And if you were wondering what happened to Angeline and her friends after the main story ended, read on!

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover

Color Illustration

Volume 1 Short Stories

Volume 2 Short Stories

Volume 3 Short Stories

Volume 4 Short Stories

Volume 5 Short Stories

Volume 6 Short Stories

Volume 7 Short Stories

Volume 8 Short Stories

Volume 9 Short Stories

Volume 10 Short Stories

Volume 11 Short Stories

Rediscovering

S-Rank Daughter

Cover and Color Illustration Gallery

About J-Novel Club

Copyright

Landmarks

Table of Contents

When Dad Caught a Cold

His head was a haze, and he was sweating terribly despite all the chills he felt. Something was clogging the back of his nostrils, making it a bit harder to breathe.

His unfocused eyes fell upon Angeline. She was now ten years old and looked concerned. The moist hand towel on his forehead was faintly warm from his body heat. Angeline dunked it in water from the washbasin, wrung it out, and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Are you okay, dad...?”

“Yeah... Thank you, Ange... Is it already noon...? I need to cook...”

As he tried to get up, Angeline frantically pushed him back down.

“No, you need to sleep well.”

“Hmm...but...”

“It’s okay. You won’t get better if you don’t sleep...and the day’s almost over already.”

“It’s already that late...?”

With Angeline glaring at him, Belgrieve gave up and returned to lying supine in his bed. He had caught a cold—there was no doubt about that. I haven’t caught one in ages.

He felt pathetic and shut his eyes. Angeline stood and added wood to the fire. The fire snapped as it burned, but besides that, he could hear the sound of the pot opening and a wooden spoon stirring the mix.

It was the beginning of winter, and it grew colder by the day. The sky was covered by an ever-present veil of gray clouds, while the snowy days outnumbered the clear ones.

I didn’t think I would fall into the river, he lamented. He’d mistaken a bit of snow piled up over the frozen river for solid ground on his usual patrol. As it had been close to shore, it hadn’t been deep nor had he been at any risk of drowning. However, he had toppled over, soaking his entire body in cold water that seeped into his clothes; the cold winds had made him even worse for wear. He had already been feeling chills as he’d rushed home, and even though he had taken medicine and eaten warm soup before he slept, he’d had a fever the next morning. Still, he had pushed himself to cook breakfast, and once he had something in his stomach and returned to bed, it was already evening.

He let out a deep breath, correcting the placement of the towel on his forehead. He hadn’t the energy to offer a wry smile. He had been in the middle of spinning yarn and had barely made any progress sorting beans.

He knew there was no use in rushing, but when he was hazy with a fever, his mind would wander all sorts of places. He was beginning to worry if any of the vegetables stored in the yard had gone rotten.

Angeline retrieved the towel again and rinsed it out. She wiped his sweat and said, “Dad... I warmed up the soup...”

“Mmm...”

Belgrieve sluggishly lifted himself up. He held his spinning head with one hand.

“I’ll have some...and...the medicine I decocted yesterday...”

“Got it... Stay where you are.”

Angeline poured soup from the pot. As he watched her, Belgrieve felt both happy and pathetic for letting himself be nursed. He scratched his cheek, mulling over his conflicted emotions. A serving of the warm bean-and-dried-meat soup and the herbal concoction calmed him a bit, and soon he was sleeping peacefully once more.

Relieved, Angeline wiped his face again and added more wood to the fire. She had some soup herself, then stared long and hard at Belgrieve’s sleeping face.

“Dad, how cute...”

I guess everyone makes a childlike face when asleep, she thought. On closer inspection, there was a faint mustache growing between his mouth and nose. While he maintained his beard, he usually shaved the mustache, but perhaps his illness had prevented him today.

“What will happen if he grows it even more...?”

She grimaced as she imagined her father with a full mustache. She had pictured him looking like a completely different person. This much is enough, she thought, stroking his stubble. Belgrieve muttered something in his sleep, and she laughed.

It was always the other way. Angeline was always the first to fall asleep. Her father would also be the first to wake. But today, I got up earlier than dad, and I stayed up because you never know what can happen. She grinned from ear to ear.

“Don’t worry, dad... You have me with you...” she confidently proclaimed to her sleeping father, wringing out the warm hand towel again. She took one of her bedcovers—she usually slept under two layers—and draped it over Belgrieve.

And thus, once the night had passed and morning had come, Belgrieve awoke feeling completely refreshed. The haze in his head had cleared. His body was a little stiff, but that would resolve itself if he moved around a bit. One day of rest was enough.

He stretched, lifting himself to find Ange sprawled out beside him. She only had one blanket wrapped around herself, and her face was a bit red. He had a terrible feeling about this.

“Ange...?”

“Morning, dad...”

Her eyes were bleary, her voice a bit nasal. Belgrieve placed a hand on her head—it was hot.

He sighed. “You caught it... I’m sorry...”

“Urgh...”

Angeline wormed her hand out to grab his, putting it against her cheek and closing her eyes.

With a wry smile on his face, Belgrieve placed his own blanket over her, wrung out a hand towel, and put it on her forehead.

“Thanks for yesterday... Now it’s dad’s turn.”

“Mmm.”

Despite her cold, Angeline seemed strangely delighted as she buried her face in the covers.

Sheep-Chasing Day

A great many sheep had flocked to a corner of the plains where the southerly slope was positioned just right to receive the sun’s full warmth. The sheep meandered about and grazed upon the fresh grass there, all of them covered in fluff that was ready for shearing. They could practically be mistaken for small, white thickets, scattered as they were across the verdant prairie.

This land had likely been inhabited in the time before settlers came in from the empire, but those original inhabitants were long gone when the newcomers arrived, and their way of life was now a complete mystery. All that remained of them were the remnants of stone structures that had presumably been erected by human hands. These few stone walls dotting the plains, now overgrown with foliage, had probably been built by the ancients to keep their flocks from wandering off—so the village elders would say, at least. Regardless of their actual purpose, they broke up the smooth uniformity of the rolling grassy plains and could be seen from afar.

Angeline, ten years old, sat upon some of the bare stone rubble and gazed up at the sky. It was a clear summer day, and the morning sun shone brightly enough from the cloudless blue sky to snap anyone awake. There was scarcely any wind, though the occasional sporadic gust of wind ruffled her short black hair. In the distance, Belgrieve walked with the shepherds, chatting with them about something or other. Angeline’s perch upon the rubble gave her a high vantage from which to see all the sheep down the gently sloping hill as they wandered amid tall grass and low trees.

“Dad!” Angeline called out in a loud voice. Belgrieve turned to look at her, waving, and she waved back.

Angeline had come to help herd the sheep today. When the grass sprouted in the spring, the village sheep would be let loose to graze all day and night, fattening up after the lean winter. The combined flock was numerous, and once shearing time came around, they’d be corralled back to the village. The sheep naturally wanted to keep eating forever, and it wasn’t so easy to call them back. Nevertheless, the shepherds managed to do it each and every year, either with the aid of sheepdogs or by their own strength. It was perhaps a sign of the village’s growing prosperity that the number of sheep was increasing each year. They were gradually running short on hands, so Belgrieve had started to help out on a regular basis.

Angeline patted the head of a sheepdog that had come up next to her, its eyes closed in comfort, as the adults all moved hectically to herd the sheep. Belgrieve, for his part, had climbed up the hill to join Angeline.

“They’re getting started, Ange. Make sure you keep a watchful eye.”

“Okay.” Angeline stood up from the rubble and closely observed the whole flock.

The adults—including Belgrieve—raised flags, apparently signaling to one another. The shepherd who seemed to be in charge lifted his flag high, then swung it down in a dramatic gesture. The other shepherds called out their orders, sending the sheepdogs racing all at once. The dog next to Angeline answered with a short, sharp bark before racing down the hill to join in.

The sheep were in disarray. They tried to scatter and run off in all different directions, but the dogs got in their way and corralled them to ensure they took flight as one. The shepherds moved behind them, occasionally chasing back the sheep that managed to weave their way through the dogs. Some of the sheep ran up the hills too. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the right way to the village. Though the dogs blocked a majority of them, a few of them still slipped through.

“Dad! That way!”

“All right.”

Belgrieve took off at a speed one wouldn’t expect of a man with a peg leg, catching up to and turning one of the sheep in no time. Once he made sure he’d done the job right, he circled around in front of a different sheep going in a different direction.

I knew it—dad is amazing, Angeline thought, watching him with pride. She looked around to see other children—shepherds in training—chasing after the sheep in a similar fashion. Then I can do it too!

“All right!” Angeline spotted another fleeing sheep and gave chase. Thanks to her daily training, she ran with resolute strides and caught up to the sheep quickly enough.

“Got you!” She leaped, wrapping her arms around its back. The sheep, startled, reared back on its hind legs and began to thrash about in an attempt to be free of Angeline. She kept a firm grip around its neck, but her arms couldn’t fully encircle the large sheep, and so she was shaken off and fell to the ground.

“Ange!” Belgrieve raced over to her, his face pale.

Angeline sat up, rubbing her head. The sheep ran back to the flock, and seeing that, she broke into a smile. “I did it, dad,” she said softly.

“Why did you jump on it? Good grief... Don’t do anything so risky.” Despite the wry smile on his face, Belgrieve let out a relieved sigh. He ruffled Angeline’s hair, a touch more gingerly than usual. “Well done, I guess. But it’s not over yet.”

“Hee hee... I know!” she said gleefully, before shooting up in a panic when, to her horror, she saw a fair few sheep racing past behind her father. “Dad! They’re loose! A whole bunch of them!”

It seemed that Belgrieve had left a gap in their encirclement when he ran over to Angeline, and the sheep had pushed through in full force. The shepherds now ran about in an uncoordinated panic.

“What are you doing, Bell?!”

“S-Sorry!”

Belgrieve frantically took off after the sheep. Angeline was hot on his heels, while the dogs circled around to get the drop on the runaways. The exasperated shepherds broke into hearty laughter even as the flock of sheep drifted and morphed over the rolling hills like white clouds over green seas.

Cider Making

“You don’t have to choose the best ones. Just pick every one you can,” Belgrieve instructed from below.

Eight-year-old Angeline swung freely around the tree. Be it green or misshapen, she plucked and tossed every single apple she came across into the basket below. Angeline was quite a bit better at tree climbing than Belgrieve.

She hummed as she plucked the apples by the stems, and once she had filled the basket, Belgrieve lifted and placed it onto the donkey-driven cart. He then replaced it with another one.

The village was dotted with apple trees, both young and old. The older ones were easily over a hundred years old, but still, every year, they were laden with so much fruit it was near impossible to pick it all. It would ultimately become a burden on the tree, so once the time came around, even the unripe apples were picked.

Apples in Turnera were small enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand. The majority were red and ripe, giving off an enticing, sweet scent.

After she had picked the last one, Angeline looked at Belgrieve and called, “Any more?”

“No, you’re good. Come on down.”

Angeline smoothly made her way down, but once she reached Belgrieve’s height, she pounced on him.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed as he caught her. He set her down on the wagon with the baskets, took up the donkey’s reins, and began walking.

It was customary to make cider whenever fall came around. This was a huge job that required everyone in the village to harvest the apples from trees all around Turnera and bring them to the village square to be pressed and poured into barrels. Cider was one of the few alcoholic beverages they could make in Turnera, and the villagers were eager to make enough to last the year. It would be ready by the next year’s spring festival, and much would be used up in the fall festival after that.

Belgrieve’s cart entered the square, which was filled with the apples gathered from all over. The unripe, bug-eaten, or rotten ones were all picked out—these would go to the livestock.

Angeline jumped down from the wagon, spread her arms, and took in a huff of the stirring scent. “Hee hee! It smells nice...”

“It does. Now go wash your hands,” Belgrieve urged her. She went and rinsed them off at the water hole with the other children. The water was colder in the fall, and it felt frigid when she stuck her hands into it.

Apple presses were brought out from every house to process the carefully selected apples. The adults spun the handles round and round while the children romped about and tossed in the apples, all while the crushed pulp oozed out of the bottom. It all went through a strainer, with the apple juice filtered out and the pulp remaining on top. The scent of apples grew even stronger.

The children would often steal tastes of the pulp, a good motivator for them to keep up their work. A few were scolded when they tried tossing in apples from far away, and each time laughter would abound.

When the barrels were full, the yeast was added, after which they were brought to the village’s communal brewery. This was a sturdy building of stacked stone sealed with mud, made so the temperature inside hardly changed between summer and winter. There the barrels were to be stacked up and allowed a peaceful rest until their time came to shine; it would be a long time before anyone knew what each barrel of cider tasted like. The fall festival would soon be upon them, but the barrels they would crack open for it would be the previous year’s vintage.

Once the square had been cleaned up, Belgrieve returned home with a heaping basket of apple pulp, while Angeline returned with a bottle of apple juice.

“We’re not done just yet, Ange.”

“Okay.”

Belgrieve sifted the fireplace for the charcoal buried in the ash, poured the pulp into a pot hanging above it, and kindled a fire. He added a bit of water, squeezed some lemon, and added sugar to the pulp. Sugar was valuable in these parts, but this was for the sake of preservation, and he was not sparing in the amount. It would be pointless if he cut the amount and it ended up rotting.

“Now stir well so it doesn’t burn.”

Angeline set up camp in front of the pot, a wooden spoon in one hand. At first, it only let off steam, but gradually, it began to bubble and fill the house with a sweet scent.

“Dad...it’s boiling.”

“Good, good.”

Belgrieve removed some wood to reduce the flame. The boil became gentler, and the apple mash that still retained some sense of cohesion dissolved into a watery mess. This was boiled down further, gradually removing the moisture.

Angeline quietly looked back. Belgrieve was wiping down an earthen pot—and once she knew he was distracted, she discreetly blew on the spoon and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Hawt...”

Sweet, sour, and hot—the apples were so delicious and syrupy she wanted to sneak another spoonful.

“Ange, it’s about time to store it.”

“Yesh!”

Angeline turned in a panic. Belgrieve looked at her curiously but quickly figured her out.

“You nipped some, didn’t you...?”

“Agh...”

Angeline turned away, her cheeks red. Belgrieve laughed and patted her on the head.

“How about we have dinner before we pack it up?”

“Yeah!”

There was no way she could turn down freshly baked bread with hot apple jam. Enraptured, Angeline came back for five more helpings, and each time, Belgrieve slathered on a thick jam layer with a wry smile.

“We won’t have anything to store at this rate.”

The closed windows rattled under the evening breeze.

Festive Fall

After prayers had been offered to the Great Goddess above, next came the shrill chirrup of a tin whistle, then the bagpipes, bouzoukis, fiddles, and accordions—all of these instruments burst to life in unison. A lively clamor filled the town square, especially around the stone icon. There were cheers here and there, accompanied by the clacking of wooden tankards struck against one another that spilled copious cider on the hands holding them with each impact.

The sun was in the midst of its descent behind the mountain, and here and there, the glowing bonfires illuminated the faces of festival goers. The autumn festival usually would have started a bit sooner, but Helvetica’s chaos had delayed it—not that the villagers minded. They were delighted to have the young and beautiful Countess Bordeaux join in on their festivities.

Helvetica and Seren smiled as they were led around as guests of honor. While Helvetica came off as sociable and mild-mannered, the way she walked exuded nobility. The villagers observing from afar knew in their hearts that their lady was quite the individual.

There was one conspicuously larger flame amid the other bonfires, around which the village children and youth danced and skipped to tunes. Belgrieve watched over this scene, feeling tranquil. The sun was gradually setting, and the dancers looked like nothing more than silhouettes against the flames. This only made them seem even more lively.

Angeline used to jump around with them, Belgrieve reminisced. With his artificial leg, dancing was not his strong suit, but he remembered Angeline dragging him along, and he recalled himself teetering around the ring.

“It’s been too long... Or has it?” he mumbled to himself.

It hadn’t been so long ago that the image of Angeline as a child had faded from his memory. However, it had already been five years since then. How has she grown? If she had managed to return by now, then just maybe... He shook his head.

“She’s doing her best at what she loves.”

I can’t force her to come back just because I want to see her. That’s just me being selfish. He gave a wry smile and took a sip of cider.

A large shadow loomed over him, and he turned to see Hoffman’s weary face.

“What are you doing all the way out here, Bell?”

“What? Something wrong, Chief?”

Hoffman scratched his head, a troubled look on his face. “I tried entertaining Lady Helvetica, but I’m not good enough! I feel bad for leaving everything to you, but could you handle this one?”

What a chief we have. Belgrieve chuckled and stood.

“I doubt I’ll do any better...but I am the one who asked her to stay.”

“Oh, thank Vienna! And sorry!”

When Hoffman brought Belgrieve over, Helvetica joyously rose from her VIP seat.

“Oh, Belgrieve, I was just wondering where you had gone! Come over, don’t be shy!”

“Sis.”

“I-It’s quite all right, Seren...” The countess shrank under her sister’s glare.

With a smile, Belgrieve lowered himself into the seat offered to him right beside the statue of the chief goddess, from which vantage he could overlook the whole square. It had grown rather dark by then, and the stars had begun to twinkle in the perfectly clear sky.

Belgrieve poured Helvetica a glass of cider, then said, “I know my invitation was quite spur-of-the-moment. Was there somewhere else you were supposed to be?”

“No, I’m very grateful. I’m the one who should be asking if I’m causing any trouble by being here.”

“You’ve caused a boatload of trouble, sis.”

“I-I know, Seren... Can’t we move on?”

“Ha ha! Give her a break already, Seren. I don’t really mind... Are the two of you acquainted with this sort of music?”

“Heh heh... Those nobles in the duke’s domain might not know it, but I’ve been surrounded by it since I was a child. I like it more than ballroom waltzes.”

“We’re often invited to village festivals in Bordeaux territory. They play these songs there, more often than not. The dancing might not be so elegant, but I like it as well,” Seren chimed in.

Belgrieve laughed and nodded. “Glad to hear I didn’t waste your time.”

Helvetica chuckled. “Heh heh... You’re surprisingly cynical, Belgrieve...”

Belgrieve shrugged. “What can I say? Some things you just stop caring about, once age catches up to you.”

They carried on with small talk as they sipped their cider and partook in the feast. Laughter broke out here and there, and gradually, the ring around the fire was growing larger and larger.

Helvetica watched, delighted, and let out a faint, longing sigh. “Such a lovely village. I wonder why I never came here before.”

“It’s an honor to hear that from you.” Belgrieve poured her another cup of cider.

Helvetica grinned at him. “I’m sure I would never have come here if it hadn’t been for you, Belgrieve. I am thankful for this bond you have forged for me.”

“I hardly did a thing. You should thank my daughter...thank Angeline.”

“Aha ha—that is true, in a sense. But this is undoubtedly your fault: I came here to see you,” Helvetica laughed and prodded Belgrieve in the shoulder.

Seren expelled a fed up sigh. “There you go, blaming someone else for that bad habit of yours...”

“Oh, c’mon! At least let me have this much! Seren, you meanie!” Helvetica pouted with puffed-up cheeks.

The stars grew brighter and more numerous as the bonfires burned through the twilight.

Winter Nights

A spell of good weather had continued for the past few days, yet today, the sky had been covered in gray clouds since the early morning, and snow poured down without end. The Orphen cityscape was dyed white, and the sweepers—who would usually be keeping the streets clean—were now tasked with shoveling snow. They wore thick coats, with caps pulled down far enough to hide their faces, and their breath came out white as they worked their shovels.

Angeline sat in her room on the bed, absentmindedly gazing out the window. She did not know how many days she had been stuck doing this. Her shoulder had healed, but it was apparently best if she didn’t move it so much. She had never received such a serious wound since becoming an adventurer, and she didn’t quite know how to recuperate. And so, she stayed still as told.

Fighting the demon had allowed her to experience many things. This included the boredom that came from having nothing to do. Her young body was simply brimming with energy, and it was quite a trial to hold it down and lie about idly. Perhaps that was even harsher than the pain.

Once afternoon came around, the sun began its descent—not that she could see it through the clouds, but she could make a good guess from the lighting.

“I’m bored...” Angeline flopped down on her back. Her eyes took in that same white ceiling she saw before bed every night. If I’m going to be seeing it so often, I might as well paint a portrait of dad on it, she thought. Not that she actually felt compelled to make that dream a reality.

Even when she didn’t do anything, she eventually grew hungry. Walking didn’t bother her, so she would usually head to the same old tavern, but now that the snow was coming down, she couldn’t be bothered to go out. The time passed in vain as she thought long and hard over how she would spend it.

It was strangely lonely to be on her own. She turned over a number of times in bed, buried her face in the pillow, and shut her eyes, distracting herself with the strange flickering sights beneath her eyelids. Though her stomach was empty, the fact she had done nothing made her less inclined to do anything about it.

It had grown terribly dim outside when there was a sudden knocking at the door. Angeline lifted her face.

“It’s open...” she muttered.

The door swung open and Miriam popped her head in.

“Yoo-hoo, Ange. How are you feeling?”

“Hmm, not bad. But I’m bored.”

After Miriam came Anessa. They both brushed off the snow they had collected while walking on the streets.

“Hey, Ange! Ahh, it sure is cold today.”

“Both of you at once... Is something up?”

“Heh heh! I knew you would be bored, so I came to play,” said Miriam.

“You haven’t had dinner, right? I didn’t think you’d go out in this snow.” Anessa, ever the more prudent of the two, began setting ingredients down on the table.

“You got that right... You’re my savior.”

“I’ve been pretty bored these days too. The leftover Calamity-Class fiends have pretty much been all cleaned up.”

While Angeline’s party was taking it easy, the reinstated retirees were going all out, and by now they had exterminated a majority of the Calamity-Class fiends. Things were back to how they had been before, with the high-ranking fiends restricted to dungeons and far-off, uninhabited lands. Human settlements were safe, at least to a degree. Angeline would probably have been bored even if she could move about.

She had wanted a vacation for so long, but that was because she wanted to return to Turnera. She had never wished to idle here in Orphen. However, the road to Turnera was sealed off by snow, and she would have to wait until spring.

Anessa mixed meat, vegetables, salt, and spices into a soup which, along with some soft bread from the bakery and small, salted fish from the grocer, became their dinner. The window glass fogged from the inside warmth.

Angeline ate the fish atop the bread and sipped the soup. Its sharp taste did wonders for warming her body.

“Delish!”

“Ah, the cold makes it even better than usual,” Miriam said, as she carefully blew on her bowl of soup.

Angeline grinned at her. “Too hot? Even your tongue is catlike...”

“Shut it!”

They argued a bit about pointless things and shared a bit of gossip around the table. Despite this and that, it was nice to have friends around. It staved off the loneliness and was fun in its own right.

The steam wafting off the soup writhed like a living being under the light of the lamp. It seemed the temperature outside was falling as the night drew on, and it gradually became a penetrating cold. The longer they were together, the better the warm soup tasted.

Suddenly realizing something, Miriam stood, strutted to the window, and rubbed the fogged glass to look outside.

“Oh,” she said and turned. “The snow stopped. The moon is out, and it’s beautiful!”

The three girls crammed into the narrow windowpane and gazed outside. The white-coated townscape sparkled under the silver moonlight.

Angeline recalled how she would walk along snowy paths with Belgrieve at night. That silver world under the pale moon was breathtaking, as if it had come straight from a painting.

She hesitated for a moment. “Do you want to go out for a bit?” she asked.

“Sounds good.”

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

The girls hurriedly donned their coats and left. With the lamps snuffed out, the only light remaining was that of the pale moon streaming into the room.

Parenting

Cooing sounds gave way to sudden violent and vigorous tapping on wood, and Belgrieve jolted awake.

“Shut up!” he shouted at the ceiling. He could hear something flapping away, chirping on the way out—a woodpecker, evidently.

Good grief. Belgrieve shook his head and lifted himself up. He equipped his peg leg, stood, and opened the window. It wasn’t yet daybreak; while it wasn’t far off from the time he usually got up, it simply did not sit right with him to be roused like this.

He thought to awaken Angeline as well, before the realization struck him.

“That’s right... She’s gone.”

It was the first spring since Angeline had left for Orphen. His daughter had set off in the fall, and he hadn’t received a single word from her, save for one brief letter saying she had arrived. Not that any letters could reach Turnera in the winter. Surely she was busy adjusting to her new working environment.

Every morning, he would unconsciously feel the urge to wake Angeline up, and each morning, he would be reminded she wasn’t there. Though he had sent her off as if it was nothing, that parental side of him couldn’t help but wonder what she was up to. It was almost as if he were the one feeling homesick.

He had, of course, been worried when his twelve-year-old daughter set off for the big city alone. However, in Turnera, the kids were already doing as much work as the adults by the time they turned ten. Though still naive, these children worked their hardest to meet their parents’ expectations.

While kids in the towns grew up in their schools, these farm children instead grew up with work as part of their everyday lives. In most cases, Turnera folk entered and left the world in Turnera—Belgrieve and Angeline being the rare exceptions. However, the village was gradually changing, as there were now more children learning swordsmanship and entering the mountains in admiration of these two anomalous figures.

In any case, the children who had once played around with Angeline had started to work without her. It was nearly inevitable that she had eventually thought to go out and make something of herself. Belgrieve did not want to get in her way, and he trusted her wholeheartedly.

Slipping on his clothes, Belgrieve took up his sword and went out; it was as good a time as any for his daily patrol. Before daybreak, the world was wrapped in lush shadows, and at first glance, it might have seemed like the village was still asleep. This was, however, a busy time of day on closer inspection. There was a thin veil of smoke from the chimneys as each house prepared breakfast, while the air was filled with the sounds of chickens, goats, and sheepdogs. A few farmers were already out in their fields.

Belgrieve watched his own frosty breath rise, then draped a muffler over his mouth and tensed his shaking shoulders. At the beginning of spring, it was still chilly before sunrise. The fact that the climate had more or less warmed up only made these minor chills all the more potent.

He only had a vague recollection of it, but he got the feeling Orphen was warmer than Turnera. It was farther south, so of course it was entirely possible that this was simply his gut telling him that, but he remembered feeling perfectly fine on the days when all the Orphen adventurers were complaining about the cold.

Was Angeline feeling the same right now? She would otherwise be out and about with a red nose and ruddy cheeks, running around in the Turnera snow. Surely she could endure Orphen’s winters.

“How should I put it...?” Belgrieve said after a moment.

It seemed that no matter what he thought about, it would always come back to Angeline. Perhaps this was normal for a parent, but to him, it felt as if he just didn’t know when to give up. In his worry, he considered sending out a mountain of letters. However, if he stirred up the girl’s nostalgia, perhaps she would lose focus at a crucial moment. She could be injured or even killed—this was what Belgrieve told himself each time he found himself sitting by the fireplace with the urge to write.

After making his way around the village, he ventured beyond it. The sun was rising, and his surroundings were tinged with color. The morning dew twinkled in the early sunlight, dazzling his eyes. He slowly climbed the hills, and once he had made it to where he had a full view over the village, he watched the farmers moving about in their fields.

With a long, sharp glance, he made sure nothing suspicious was afoot.

There hadn’t been any fiends for a long while, and no hibernating beasts had wandered into the village in a half-sleeping stupor. The days had passed in peace and tranquility, no different from the year before—no different but for the absence of Angeline.

She used to love this place, didn’t she? Belgrieve’s thoughts had turned to Angeline again, naturally. He smiled wryly and stroked his beard.

“Good grief... She’s going to laugh at me for acting like this.”

He stood up straight, the creaks and cracks in his back letting him hear his body loosening up. Let’s not betoo morose. Today’s a new day.

Pushing his jostled scabbard back into place, Belgrieve began the slow climb back down. The village was fully awake now, and in the haze rising from the morning sun, the air resonated with work songs.

The First Day

Countless people passed through the guild doors, their footsteps an uproarious din amid the ill-humored shouting of those who couldn’t find a suitable request and the frustrated groans of those who had been rejected at the desk after bringing up a request far beyond their capabilities. The guild was always lively in the mornings. Adventurers were desperate to get their hands on well-paying jobs, and they needed to get to them before anyone else. The requesting clients likewise wanted to get their jobs registered before the most reliable adventurers had already made other commitments. Numerous lines had formed before the counter as the men and women in charge of each station passed documents back and forth. They handled clients and adventurers in quick succession without ever letting their business smiles falter.

The adventurer’s guild’s main duty was to mediate work. They took on the various troubles of the townsfolk and distributed them to the adventurers. The jobs varied; although some required combat abilities, such as gathering materials in places that no normal humans dared tread or hunting down fiends that had appeared nearby, there were just as many requests for work like weeding, cleaning the roads, shopping, and finding lost items. The first group was seen as jobs for true adventurers and was preferred by those seeking wealth and fame. As one climbed their way through the adventurer ranks, the available jobs oftentimes came with ever-increasing danger. The other jobs, on the other hand, were taken by neophyte adventurers as young as ten years old seeking a daily wage. There was no age restriction for guild registration, though dangerous jobs were generally never given to children, who would never even need to use their weapons. They would usually come in early to take various odd jobs. Many children of poor households and street urchins from the slums depended on the earnings from such work to get by.

Once noon came around, the crowds would recede, and there would be far fewer clients and adventurers about. The ones who visited at this time of day were the higher-ranking adventurers who could still make a living while being choosy about their jobs, and clients who wanted to be certain their jobs were done right, even if it took more time. There were also adventurers returning from jobs that took several days to complete; those were comparatively scarce.

After the last adventurer had left with a request form in hand, the receptionist stretched out. “Ahh,” she sighed. “Busy, as usual.” Her work didn’t end here; once she’d finished her shift at the desk, she’d have to get to work organizing documents or tidying up the disorderly lobby. Even so, she was thankful that she had a chance to catch her breath.

She was considering brewing some herbal tea when she caught a glimpse of black hair out of the corner of her eye. It was a young girl, just barely tall enough to peek her head over the counter. She must have been around eleven or twelve years old.

The girl put her hands on the counter and stood on her tiptoes as she stared up at the receptionist. “Um...”

“Yes, how can I help you?” The receptionist smiled. What a cute kid, she thought. Has she come to put in a request for a lost item?

But these expectations were quickly dashed. “I’m...here to become an adventurer!” the girl declared confidently.

“Huh? Oh, I see...” The other form, then, the receptionist mused. Child applicants were not a rare sight; perhaps she was an orphan, or from a destitute home, and she wanted to earn some regular income from odd jobs. And yet her clothes were neither dirty nor frayed, though they did have a rustic flair. Not a local vagrant then—it looked more like she had wandered in from the middle of nowhere. She had a sword strapped to her hip too. Whatever her actual skill with the blade might be, it was likely she had come from the countryside seeking her dreams.

In any case, it was guild policy to never turn anyone down, so the receptionist got to work without skipping a beat. While she was preparing the documents, a handful of fierce-looking men came up to the desk—a B-Rank party that had been on a roll lately.

The leader slapped his hand on the counter. “We finished up the job. Confirm it, would ya?”

“Splendid work. Um, could you tell me the request number and what it was about?” The receptionist turned to a shelf of documents, smiling. The black-haired girl was pushing herself up with her arms against the counter so she could intently watch the receptionist at work. The adventurers looked at her with cynical smiles.

“Hey now, little lady. This is no place for kids.”

“Oh, she’s got a sword. You a newbie?”

“Do you even know how to use it? How about I give you a lesson?” One of the men teasingly rapped on the girl’s sheathed sword.

The girl seized his hand, her lips pursed. “Have some manners. Aren’t you supposed to be older than me?”

“Huh?” the man snarled.

“Is it fun, bullying kids?”

The men glared at her sternly. One of them loomed over her imperiously. “You’re one cheeky brat. Hey, how about I teach you how manners work around here? We adventurers have a pecking order!”

Before the receptionist could stop him, the man lunged for the girl. But the girl grasped his wrist and gave it a tug. The adventurer reacted to the sudden counterattack by digging in his heels, but before he even knew what was happening, the girl gracefully swept his legs out from under him, twisting his arm as he fell. He screamed reflexively when his back slammed onto the floor.

“D-Damn brat!”

“You’ve messed with the wrong party!” The other men came at her, their faces burning with rage.

“Stop! Please, don’t!” the receptionist cried out, blanching at the tragedy that would surely unfold.

But when the dust settled, the last one standing was the black-haired girl. The men who had picked a fight with her lay grimacing on the ground around her.

The girl scoffed, then turned back to the stunned receptionist. She stood up on her tiptoes to look over the form on the counter before picking up a quill pen. “What parts do I have to fill out...?”

“Oh, um... Just the name.”

“Name... Angeline.” The girl’s face was utterly nonchalant as the pen glided over the paper.

Night Lights

Though the cold was descending from on high, the forest gave off a peculiar warmth. At the beginning of spring, it was filled with a surprising plethora of colors. There were the bare branches that had yet to regrow their leaves, others that already had fresh buds, and others still that remained evergreen. There was also a distinct difference in the intensity of green depending on where the sun’s light was abundant and where it was scarce. However, every inch was filled with the impression of new life, a distinct line drawn from the stillness of winter.

The ground was not a flat plain. There were bumps and drops here and there, around which water from the snowmelt would flow and puddle. There were also rocks of all sizes and withered trees covered in moss.

Belgrieve walked ahead, taking care not to miss a step, with Angeline, Anessa, and Miriam following him. Angeline was visibly elated, taking in the sights with a beaming smile and filling her lungs with the fresh air.

“Heh heh... I really do like it here.”

“Hey, Ange, you have to watch your step.”

“Okay!”

“Gah?!” Miriam raised a hysterical cry from behind as she stumbled, hastily holding on to her staff to keep her balance.

Anessa wearily helped her up. “What are you doing? Watch out!”

“Ugh, I just slipped. What am I supposed to do?” Miriam pouted with puffed-out cheeks, trudging onward in a huff. Anessa shook her head.

“This is practically our backyard, right, dad?”

“Yeah... Sounds about right.”

Belgrieve had roamed these grounds for more than twenty years, and Angeline had followed along from infancy. When he walked, Belgrieve naturally picked out the places with the best footing and had made a habit of taking firm steps. His peg leg made him even warier of his footing than the average mountaineer.

Anessa and Miriam had entered the woods a number of times for work, but that was not to say they were experienced enough to feel at home with poor footing. Still, as was to be expected of high-ranking adventurers, they planted their feet properly, albeit somewhat unsteadily. Miriam grew even more careful after she tripped.

Gradually, the sun set, and the meager rays that cleared the trees were disappearing beyond the western mountain. It felt as if the wind had suddenly grown colder, and Miriam shivered.

“Eep! That’s cold.”

“It’s evening... Hey, couldn’t we have headed out when it was brighter?” Anessa asked Angeline, who was ahead of her.

Angeline turned and chuckled. “It’s better when it’s dark... You’ll see why when we get there.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, I can’t wait...” Miriam snarked, before something ahead suddenly caught her gaze. “Huh?” This led the others to look as well. It was a lone bird on the ground, twisting and turning. “Is it injured, do you think?”

“It might be... Should I help it, dad?”

Belgrieve narrowed his eyes, looked around, then shook his head. “No, you can leave it alone.”

“Huh... Why?”

With a wry smile to Angeline’s sorrowful face, Belgrieve pointed in a different direction. There, in the thicket, he could see a sliver of white—an egg.

“That’s the parent. It’s trying to take our attention off of its eggs.”

“Ah, so that’s it...”

“So it’s because we’re here...?”

“Pretty much. Now let’s hurry.”

The sun quickly sank below the horizon, and Belgrieve lit his lantern. The path ahead gradually grew steeper, and as their gazes were drawn upward, they began to see the stars twinkling through the gaps in the trees. Those dazzling points grew much greater in number before their eyes.

“The night sky here is amazing...” Anessa let out a longing sigh. “You can’t see this in Orphen.”

“That so? Is it because there are no lights around?”

“Hee hee...the stars are nice, but just wait. You’ll see something even more surprising.”

“Oh, just tell us already.”

“Glowgrass, I’m guessing. I’ve heard it’s beautiful, but you don’t have to make such a big deal about it...”

There was a sudden gust of headwind. They were out in a clearing with nothing overhead to protect them from the wind blowing down the mountain, which rustled the grass and trees around them. Suddenly, Belgrieve snuffed out his light.

Anessa and Miriam stared wide-eyed. Countless stalks of glowgrass swayed, each exuding a pale, blue glow. Their soft glowing lights, extending no farther than a few inches, blended into one another to create a distinctive lake of light. The mountain towered beyond as a black silhouette, while a full, bespangled sky stretched out above them. It was as if the stars had been reflected onto the earth.

“How about now...?” Angeline said, turning to them triumphantly.

“Fine. You win.”

“Hey! Hey! Are we allowed to go in there?!”

Belgrieve nodded, and Miriam excitedly raced forth, parting the glowgrass seas. Angeline and Anessa were soon to follow, the pale, blue light illuminating the girls from below.

In the cold, early spring dusk, the wind swept over the glowgrass, forming waves and ripples that caused the shadows to flicker and sway.

Ghost Stories

As the orphanage was joined with the church, it was situated close to the graveyard. The clergy had a duty of maintaining the graves and chanting daily prayers for the dead. Though it wasn’t directly adjacent, it was well within walking distance.

The children who lived there were often dragged along by one of the nuns to clean the tombstones. They would sweep away fallen leaves, scrub away moss, and replace withered flowers for new ones. As a devout follower, the nun would make sure to be mindful and meticulous with her work, but the kids in their mischievous years would run off to play more often than not, provoking the nun’s pious wrath.

“Enough already! The ghosts will come for naughty children like you!”

“Ghosts?”

“We’re fine, Sister. Mighty Vienna protects all.”

“Oh, but you see, the Great Goddess punishes bad little girls who don’t listen. Now hurry up and rake those leaves.”

And like that, they were cleaning the graves yet again. After evening prayers came dinnertime, then bed. There was a rule against staying up late, but it was never so easy for the children to fall asleep. They would gather in secret, whispering stories under their breath.

With her blanket pulled over her head, nine-year-old Miriam giggled.

“A ghost, they say!”

“An undead, right? The adventurers will deal with it.”

If these children without relatives were not adopted, they would eventually have to pick up some trade to stand on their own. Most often, they would enter an apprenticeship with a craftsman or merchant, but becoming an adventurer was also quite enticing. After all, they were at that age where they longed for adventure. The nun would make a sour face whenever they brought it up.

In any case, the children recognized adventurers as the people who exterminated bad fiends. Surely they could protect small children from ghosts as well.

One of the older girls cracked a mischievous face. “You really think so? Ghosts aren’t the same as undead, you know.”

“Huh? Really?”

Nine-year-old Anessa shifted under her blankets. “Yep, I’ve heard about it before,” she said. “You know Mr. Will’s house downtown? They heard footsteps in the dead of the night.”

The children pricked up their ears and swallowed their breath.

“At first, they thought it was a cat or something, but it sounded too big for that. Even half asleep, Mr. Will knew something had to be up.”

“And then? And then?” Miriam leaned in, exhilarated.

“The steps got closer and closer. They stopped right by his bedside, and he could hear breathing in his ear.”

“Th-That’s just a bandit!” a seven-year-old boy said, putting up a strong front.

“Shh,” the surrounding children chided, holding their index fingers to their lips.

Anessa chuckled. “It wasn’t a bandit. There was no one there when he looked up. He closed his eyes again, but he still heard it. ‘Haaah...haaah...’”

“Eep!”

“Finally, he leaped to his feet. He jumped up and screamed, ‘Who’s there?!’ and then, behind him...”

Anessa’s words were cut off as Miriam jumped in with a startling “Boo!” sending the rest of the children reeling back.

The kids who had yet to turn five had already been teary-eyed before the story reached the scary part, and that was the finishing blow. Their wails put the older kids in a panic.

“Hold on, wait, wait, you can’t cry!”

“The nun’s gonna come!”

“What are you doing, Merry?!”

But it was already too late. Frenzied footsteps traced the hall before the nun burst through the door in her pajamas. Looking at all the children nestled together, she scowled.

“Ah! It’s past your bedtime! What are you doing?!”

“Um, um, this isn’t what it...”

On top of the small kids who wouldn’t stop crying, the ones who knew they would be scolded had started sobbing as well, and the situation was getting out of hand. The nun was exhausted by the time everyone had finally calmed down, but she still had enough in her to become enraged once she heard what had happened.

“Anessa,” she sighed. “I thought you were a good girl.”

“Erk... I-I’m sorry. But Merry, she—”

“No! I did nothing wrong.”

“Quiet down. You all told stories when you’re supposed to be sleeping, so you’re all bad.”

The kids were astir.

“I-Is a ghost gonna come?”

“Will it go ‘boo’ at me from behind?”

“I’m scared...”

The nun panicked, seeing a few small ones about to cry again. “Calm down! Anessa’s story was completely made-up! Those kinds of ghosts don’t exist!”

“Huh? Then what kinds of ghosts are coming, Sister?”

“Um... Yes, well, you see...”

After much thought and some dithering, the nun told a heartwarming ghost story. This was far more enjoyable than prayers, lectures, and sermons, and the children’s eyes sparkled. This didn’t feel bad at all to the nun, and she began to grow quite invested in spinning her tales. By the time another nun’s curiosity prompted her to drop by, she had already begun telling a new one.

Treading Wheat

The white-frosted stalks of wheat regained their verdant hues under the light of the sun. The ground was somewhat muddy after the snowmelt but not bad enough to hold up work.

Belgrieve walked down the path with five-year-old Angeline by his side. The skies had been clear since early morning, but that only made the weather feel even colder—there was nothing to insulate them from the heavy cold air from the atmosphere. The sun wasn’t nearly strong enough to warm their bodies.

Angeline crouched down. Her cheeks were red.

“Are you all right, Ange?”

She thought for a moment. “I’m a little cold.”

She restlessly gripped Belgrieve’s hand.

Early spring work consisted of planting potatoes and treading wheat. There was still some time to go before the potatoes needed to be planted; treading the wheat was the first job of the year. The seeds suspended in the frost needed to be stomped to the ground, which would cause the stalks to branch off more and produce more kernels.

Turnera sowed wheat in both the fall and the spring, planting a different cultivar in each season. In terms of taste, fall wheat was preferred and thus harvested in greater abundance. The spring wheat was mainly grown as feed for livestock during the lean winter months. Though there wasn’t a great difference in labor involved for either, it was only the fall wheat that would be trod in the cold.

They headed out to the misty field and saw several people already hard at work. Belgrieve noticed children among them. He made his way to the edge, planting his artificial leg on firm ground for balance—he could only tread wheat with his good leg.

Angeline stepped on the nearest bundle, her breath a misty white.

“You can put in more strength. But you can’t grind your foot against it, or you’ll tear the leaves.”

“Okay.”

Angeline raised her leg and somewhat awkwardly moved it down the bristle of wheat. Belgrieve chuckled to himself as he got to work on the one next to it. The wind was gentle that day; sometimes, cold wind would buffet against their exposed faces, and when that happened, the simple job became incredibly taxing.

However, Belgrieve quite enjoyed treading the wheat. It was a job consisting of nothing more than walking carefully, but it was strangely relaxing. It put him in a frame of mind similar to meditation.

He lined up next to Angeline as she unsteadily made her way down the line and took her hand. She shifted her weight against him, and her steps became surer and more relaxed.