“It isn’t bad for your health, though?”
“No. Aside from the flavor, it’s fine. I’ve heard that it’s even very good for the stomach and the gut.”
“You mean it doesn’t upset and even helps your stomach?”
“As long as you can stomach the stuff, yeah. After you eat skybat, your skin and hair will get all shiny the next day. Noblewomen who prize beauty will grill the meat, finely shred it, and swallow it with water. Even then, it’s said to be very bitter.”
“Is that right? My wife tried it once and said never again.”
“But she did try it?”
“Anything for beauty...”
With that conversation at an end, Volf, with a piece of the monster in his hand, gave Dahlia an inexplicable expression. “Hey, Dahlia—”
“No, thank you! Just the bones are fine!” She didn’t need to be pretty that badly.
“My skin and hair be damned—I have no appetite for the stuff after hearing about it.”
“You know, when I first joined the squad, there was a certain individual who tried it for his hair.”
“Did it work?”
“It got shinier, sure, but even after he had it for seven days straight, he didn’t seem to have any more hair.” The veteran looked just as displeased as he had before. The effects of skybat meat were interesting, but to take the stuff for a whole week? That was asking a lot.
“Erm, who might that be?”
“Kirk, the vice said ‘a certain individual’—take a hint.”
“Ah...”
There was a certain knight, the wielder of a smoking sword, who sometimes fixed the hair at his temples—Dahlia had a clue who it was, but she wasn’t going to say it out loud.
A few seconds of awkward silence plagued the group until Griswald cleared his throat. “Masters Dahlia and Jonas, would you like some of the meat after it is processed? There are many skybats over in Ehrlichia, and they treat traveling cloaks with their meat. If a monster bites the wearer, it instinctively lets go, as it mistakes them for unsavory prey.”
“That would make it quite effective on armor.”
“How about applying it on the scarlet ones?” Jonas’s suggestion met with Dahlia’s instant approval. The Scarlet Armors would be a little safer.
“Why don’t you try it first, Volf?”
“No, I think it should be applied to everyone’s armor.”
“Hey, you’re the one who’s so popular with wyverns. You should apply it to your whole body so you’ll be fine even if you become takeout again.”
“As they say, hope for the best but prepare for the worst, Volf.”
“I don’t think people get carried off by wyverns as often as you all think!”
Nobody within earshot could keep themselves from laughing at the exchange.
The scene displayed in the couch window was serene—almost too much so. Sitting amid the laughing and cheering was Rossetti, who still had her red hair tucked inside her hat. She was small only in comparison to the muscular knights around her, but she didn’t look out of place—it would be plausible to claim that she was a knight without her armor.
“So, Grato? What’s with that bow from earlier? It must have been expensive.”
Sitting across from Bernigi was his former subordinate and the current captain of the Order of the Beast Hunters. “The Galeforce Bow is an artificial magic bow with a medium-strength air enchantment, and it cost about as much as three greatswords.”
“And the materials?”
“Green wyvern bone for the bow and bicorn tail for the bowstring.”
“Nothing unusual there. What about the arrows?”
“Those are made from green horse bone and enchanted with wind dragon scale. The pair of arrows are joined together with mythril thread.”
“Hm. Interesting. I would never have thought to connect arrows with mythril thread.” The skybat had been cut apart, and the knights were loading its parts onto the wagon; Bernigi found himself feeling sorry for a monster that harmed humans. He dismissed the thought and recalled an old memory. “Back in the day, when we had no choice but to eat skybat, we would try to get its flavor out of our mouths by chewing whatever grass there was at hand.”
“I remember I couldn’t bear how bitter the meat was, but the grass only made things worse.” Grato grimaced as he painted the wine glasses red and then handed Bernigi one. With a “Cheers,” the two men wet their beaks; the dryness paired perfectly with further reminiscing.
“When I saw the knight hand-catching fish earlier, it reminded me of that time a lookout got attacked by two red bears.”
“Ah, yes, that was when I had just entered the Beast Hunters. We used a potion on that knight, then had him carted back to the capital. It is fortunate that he turned out fine.”
“But he never returned to the squad.”
“Likely because he was soon to marry into his wife’s family. His son is now quite the competent Beast Hunter too.”
The calmness in Grato’s tone was night and day compared to the young, cocky knight Bernigi had once known. He had become a fine, levelheaded captain. Bernigi should have been happy about that, but instead, he felt so old. “We had a knight who got carried off by a wyvern, and the only thing that we could bring back was his armor. He had fussed over naming his newborn son for half a year only to never have seen him once.”
“That did happen.”
“There was another knight who was suffocated by a marsh spider shooting silk into his mouth. We could only defeat it by burning them both.”
“I remember everything I have burned with my own hands.” The memories were too painful to have faded—his calm demeanor was belied by the way his fingernails dug into his palms.
“When I was young, we lacked even water crystals, and a man died falling into the stream trying to get a drink. I believe I have told you this before?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“When our vice-captain went to file the paperwork, one of the men from the treasury department made a comment about how the knight ‘hadn’t even been engaged in combat with a monster,’ and the vice-cap flew into a fit of rage and sent the bureaucrat flying. I regret not being the one who punched him.”
“I, too, wish I could have done so. Thankfully, no one in the treasury would say anything like that today.”
Bernigi had heard that the Beast Hunters’ funds were now somewhat more ample than they had been in Grato’s day. The current captain had been tenacious in the budget meetings and wielded his connections well, and he paid from his own pocket for whatever the Order lacked. Bernigi was a marquis too, yet he had failed to do the same for the squad in his time. “Grato, you have done well. I was not a good vice-captain—I could not fix the squad’s problems or protect my own men while I was a Beast Hunter, and then I had to resign after injuring my leg. Ever since, I have been but a nobleman living in extravagance.”
“I would not describe your heavy burdens that way, sir. You put your life on the line for seven straight days to protect your wounded subordinate—”
“It was meaningless. It was my fault that there was no one beside him when he passed on in that freezing cave.” Bernigi had stood at the mouth to protect him, but for what? The next time he saw that young knight, he had already become cold and stiff.
“His body was intact, we buried his ashes, and his family thanked you, sir.”
“They should have reproached me for my failure to protect their son as his vice-captain—they had every right to!” His voice had grown louder than he had meant it to. Grato used to freeze whenever Bernigi raised his voice, but now the captain was unperturbed as he looked straight at him. The old man remembered how those deep red eyes of his had cried. “Their youngest son had joined the Beast Hunters because he looked up to me, and what do we have of him now? Just ashes. I remember the tears in your eyes when you stood before his empty casket.”
“I no longer remember it, but I do not doubt your memory, Sir Bernigi.” The faintest crease formed between his eyebrows; once a poor liar, always a poor liar.
“This drunk old man has grumbled on long enough. Have you anything to say?”
“Hm, let me see. Shall I boast about how much the Order has changed?” Grato likely wanted to put an end to the whining and changed the topic.
Bernigi swirled his second glass of wine and smiled. “Do boast all you want.”
“With an increased budget, we now have acquired good horses and more sleipnirs.”
“Oh, yes, I have seen. You have quite the fine steeds in your stable.” That not a single one was underweight had been shocking. And just like the animals, the men at the riverbank had healthy physiques.