Alvin (1)

Just as they finished descending the mountain road, raindrops began falling from the leaden sky.

“Tch.”

Alvin clicked his tongue and glared up at the heavens.

He had left the fortress, which he had been visiting on an inspection, earlier than planned to get ahead of the rain, but apparently he hadn’t made it in time.

The town was still five kilometers away. Alvin was about to spur his horse onward when he suddenly noticed a farmhouse beside the main road.

A sign advertising an inn now hung outside the farmhouse, which should have been unoccupied since its previous owner had died.

The inn was called Elm Tree Manor.

There was a large elm tree on the farmhouse grounds. Presumably, that was where the name had come from.

“Dennis!”

Alvin shouted to Dennis, the knight accompanying him who was riding a little way behind, and pointed at the sign.

The rain rapidly turned into a torrential downpour, hammering down so fiercely that they had to raise their voices just to hear each other.

Dennis nodded in acknowledgment, and the two knights rode through the gates of the newly opened inn.

Leaving his horse in Dennis’s care, Alvin headed toward the main house first.

“Now then, I wonder what kind of person owns this place…”

An abandoned property was troublesome enough, but having someone unsavory move in would be even worse.

Alvin opened the inn’s front door with his guard fully raised, only to be greeted by an unexpected sight.

“Welcome.”

To his surprise, the person who came out to greet him was a woman.

She had curly blonde hair tied back in a single ponytail and sky-blue eyes.

She appeared to be in her mid-twenties.

‘She doesn’t seem to be from around here,’ Alvin thought as he studied her.

Dark hair was common in this region because of generations of intermarriage with people from the neighboring country, while blonde hair was unusual.

The woman returned Alvin’s gaze with precisely the same expression of guarded suspicion, taking care not to appear openly rude.

She apparently had no idea who Alvin was.

After they exchanged a few words, she offered to show him to something she called a drying room, saying, “If you’d like.”

Apart from the sound of rain pounding against the roof, the inn was completely silent. There was no indication that anyone else was present.

Her explanation was smooth and confident. Alvin had initially assumed she was married and ran the inn with her husband, but he was beginning to realize that wasn’t the case.

Apparently, she was the proprietor herself.

She’s remarkably careless about her own safety, Alvin thought.

She was a woman with intelligent eyes and a certain sophisticated air about her. In a rural town, her beauty would undoubtedly attract attention.

The inn was some distance from town, making her an ideal target for any passing ruffians.

What on earth had the people at the town hall been thinking when they recommended this property to her?

He almost wanted to curse them, but now that the sale had been completed, even the lord could no longer intervene.

However, Alvin changed his mind when she showed him the drying room, which she had apparently constructed by installing fire and wind magic stones throughout its walls.

“So you’re a mage, then?”

“I don’t have much power left anymore, but I used to work in that profession.”

That was her answer.

As long as she wasn’t caught off guard, a mage could hold her own against even a grown man. A group of attackers would be another matter, but she was clearly intelligent. Surely she had taken some precautions.

Alvin was relieved, but at the same time, he found himself increasingly curious about her previous occupation.

A mage? No, that’s not quite right.

She was only slightly taller than average and didn’t have a particularly impressive physique, but there was something about her that reminded him of someone in his own profession.

She was constantly making subtle adjustments to her position, keeping herself outside the reach of his sword and ensuring that obstacles remained between them.

In that case, was she a magic knight…?

What on earth had happened to bring her all the way out here?

He wanted to ask, but she seemed reluctant to discuss the subject.

Alvin himself was equally unwilling to reveal his true identity. In the end, he decided not to press the matter and kept his questions to himself.

When they returned to the dining room, the innkeeper simply said, “Make yourself comfortable,” and promptly disappeared into the kitchen.

Alvin was notorious for his dislike of women, yet as he watched her walk away, he felt strangely disappointed.

He wanted to talk to her some more, but she showed no sign of returning. With little choice, Alvin sat down in one of the dining room chairs and looked around.

Several lamps illuminated the dining room, making it pleasantly bright.

The interior hadn’t changed much since the building had been a farmhouse. It was neither luxurious nor particularly fashionable, but everything was clean, comfortable, and filled with a welcoming warmth.

The tables were covered with embroidered linen tablecloths, a specialty of the region.

Alvin privately thought that any food served in a place like this was bound to be delicious.

The lamps weren’t illuminated by candles.

“These are magic stones.”

Each stone was little better than scrap and had already begun to deteriorate, so they weren’t particularly bright. However, several stones had been installed in each lamp, and small mirrors had been fitted inside the carefully polished fixtures. Apparently, the mirrors compensated for the weak light by reflecting it.

Alvin was impressed by how cleverly everything had been designed.

Magic-stone lamps were also used in noble households, but the more distinguished the family, the more inclined they were to display their wealth by purchasing expensive magic stones. Consequently, they rarely bothered with such ingenious arrangements.

Seriously, who on earth is this woman?

Dennis finally returned after tending to the horses. Alvin stood up, intending to fetch some water for him as well.

“I can call her myself, sir.”

Dennis sounded flustered, but Alvin saw an opportunity to speak to the woman again.

“No, I’ll go.”

He cheerfully dismissed Dennis’s offer.

The woman had retreated into the kitchen and appeared to be deep in conversation with someone.

Who could she be talking to?

When Alvin peered inside, he discovered that her companion was a tiny person standing about one meter tall.

Is she talking to a fairy?

Unable to contain his surprise, he asked, “…Was that a fairy just now?”

The little figure immediately vanished, leaving the innkeeper standing alone in the kitchen.

“Yes. A house fairy. Apparently, they live in most large houses.”

She answered Alvin while continuing to work busily with her hands.

For some reason, he found himself unable to look away and stood there watching her work.

She seemed to be making bread or something similar. Using a round cutter, she was cutting circles from the cream-colored dough on her worktable. She arranged the resulting little rounds at even intervals on a baking tray.

After sliding the tray into the oven, she murmured with satisfaction, “There, that should do it.”

When he asked what she was making, she replied, “Scones.”

Alvin had never heard of such a food before, and his curiosity was piqued.

He hadn’t intended to eat or drink anything, but he asked her to make some for them as well and ordered coffee while he was at it.

When the freshly baked scones and drinks arrived, he stopped the innkeeper from promptly disappearing again and persuaded her to join them. The three of them ate the scones together.

They were delicious.

They crumbled delicately in his mouth, with a texture somewhere between bread and cake. Alvin never complained about the food he was served, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a delicious meal.

Having just endured the dreadful food at the fortress, he found the scones particularly satisfying.

The fortress was situated in a remote mountain region, and servants rarely stayed there for long, leaving it perpetually understaffed. With so few cooks preparing the meals, the quality of the food was far from satisfactory. In fact, an assignment to the fortress was so unpopular among the knights of Margrave Goran’s order that they practically begged through tears not to be sent there.

During their subsequent conversation, the woman explained that she had used baking soda to make the scones and that baking soda could be produced by refining trona.

Alvin and Dennis immediately exchanged glances.

They had long been suspicious of the central nobles’ desire to acquire a stretch of barren wasteland where crops wouldn’t even grow. Now, quite unexpectedly, they had stumbled upon a clue to their intentions.

They’re after the trona deposits buried underground.

When the woman excused herself to prepare dinner, Dennis leaned toward Alvin and whispered.

“We’ve done it, Lord Alvin.”

Dennis was absolutely delighted. Alvin nodded and replied, “Indeed,” but all he could think about was one question.

Who on earth is that woman?