But there had been gains for his pains—he had even managed to spar with the Beast Hunters. That said, he was yet to move as perfectly as he wished, and he lacked the strength he desired. Furthermore, his hips and shoulders still felt too stiff. There was one measure, one that he had dared not to mention. With palatable disgust in his mouth, Bernigi uttered the monster’s name. “Mersela, please order skybat powder for me...” Powdered skybat flesh was not only good for hair and skin, it was also effective when one’s joints had limited range of motion—so the priest Aroldo had told him in secret.
“I shall also prepare dried forest serpent meat for you. Why don’t we both partake in them starting tomorrow?”
“Mm, aye...” Bernigi was hardly happy. Forest serpent was not a problem, but skybat? He had no intention of putting on the airs of a gourmand, but that—that could not be called food. Well, if he thought of it as medicine, then that was only natural, but seven whole days of it would be pain and suffering; it would even sour drinks. To think about it, skybats likely hated him more than he them: he had slain them in expeditions, used them in his leg, and even taken them as medicine.
That reminded him of the redheaded magical toolmaker who had said something along the lines of being on a high horse. Bernigi had asked her to replace the cracked pylon of his artificial leg, but what she had come up with was a beautiful sky blue magic prosthesis. After taking Marcella’s suggestion, she had worked the green horse bone with an intense focus; Bernigi had faith in her after seeing the utmost trust and bond between her and his grandson. Still, when he first put on the magic prosthesis and took a step, Bernigi had trembled within: it was so plain to see that it was artificial, so he had worried that it would be something he could only wear at home—just a few moments after, that thought had gone, never to return. The prosthesis had been even lighter than he had imagined, and it had provided sure support and a tight fit. When he’d flowed some magic into it, it had almost felt like his leg had regrown. It had been confidence-inspiring. Not only could he walk, he could easily run—hell, he had felt as though he could even leap and soar.
As he’d basked in the magic prosthesis’s glory, Dahlia had trusted Marcella with the task of supporting Bernigi. The two men had walked the halls back and forth, and they had walked the stairs up and down. Bernigi had used muscles that had been dormant for too long, and his physical pain had been searing, but that had then been eclipsed by a priceless, irreplaceable moment.
The desire to return to knighthood and the possibility of actually doing so had grown stronger the more accustomed to the magic prosthesis he had gotten. Magical tools were rather interesting things. In the form of the green horse bone replacing his leg, the skybat enchantment, and the various products made from slime powders, magical tools benefited the Order’s expeditions, and they might even be able to bring this retired knight back to the battlefield. It was now he realized: perhaps monsters loathed nothing more than that redheaded magical toolmaker. Bernigi patted his sky blue leg and grinned.
“I can tell you have taken a liking to your magic prosthesis, dear.”
“Aye, I sure have.”
“I imagine you can dance very well now.”
Still grinning, he nodded. People and interpersonal relationships were uncanny things. News that a young common woman had become the Orders’ advisor had raised Bernigi’s suspicion—was there something more than met the eye? But no, the magical toolmaker named Dahlia Rossetti not only did not have a hidden side, she carried her true self for the world to behold. When they had first met at the campground, she had lent him a supporting hand, and then she had earnestly illustrated that her creations were for the sake of the Beast Hunters. She had leveraged her connection with the Scalfarottos to save Marcella and his family too. And now, with this sky blue magic prosthetic leg, she had even enabled Bernigi to return to being a knight in fighting trim. How could he possibly thank her enough?
“The payment to Rossetti Trading Company has already been settled, and their vice-chairman expressed that there is no need for any sort of gratuity.”
“I figured that is Master Dahlia’s character.” Ivano’s refusal of more money or goods had been in accordance with his chairwoman’s wish that future clients could afford the same service. It was not in the spirit of mercantilism, but it was very much in the spirit of Dahlia to behave so. Bernigi had already racked his brains for a way to thank her, and he knew if he were to ask her directly, it would only cause her much panic and trouble in figuring how to politely refuse him; that, though, transferred the trouble onto him.
“We shall have to find a way to express our gratitude someday, shan’t we?”
“Aye, we can dwell on that some more—but we will return the favor eventually.” As a D’Orazi—no, rather, as an ordinary knight, Bernigi so vowed.
“There is also Lord Jonas Goodwin whom we must repay.” Warm were her words, but scorching embers were at their core. That a youngling such as him had so easily outplayed her husband must have given her a grudge. Perhaps it was somewhat unjust—never ever had Bernigi been so soundly beaten before, and that was worth merit—but perhaps this was a battle for them as a couple. With what time they had left, they would conquer their last foe.
“Ah! Forty-seven pages will have to do for today!” Bernigi grasped his sword and shot to his feet—one of them sky blue. “From today forth, I shall endeavor to return to Beast Hunter form. I shall mingle with them, then, with this leg and sword, run rings around them.”
“Then I shall return to social intercourse with other noblewomen. I shall write many more letters, host tea parties, and visit the opera.”
Neither the weight of a sword nor the weight of a pen was as substantial as the rapacity of the nobility.