Chapter 352: Reciprocity

The morning after the magnificent festival ended under the full moon.

‘Drink up! Drink up!’

Completely drunk soldiers sprawled throughout the camp.

You could guess by comparing the detoxification abilities of elves and dark elves, but fairy liquor induced extreme intoxication. Its excellent taste and smoothness made even dwarves who drank enthusiastically pass out in an instant.

The saving grace was that unlike human liquor, it didn’t induce vomiting. Essentially, fairy liquor was close to medicinal herbs with healing and soothing properties.

-Mularky! Where’s Mularky?

-He’s sleeping over there.

-Already passed out? What about Vincen?

-He’s sleeping over there.

Those who drank beyond their limits collapsed without any disgraceful behavior, falling straight to sleep.

In a way, they’d passed out before fully enjoying the festival, but no one felt cheated. Fairy festivals could be savored even while asleep.

-Why is this guy smacking his lips in his sleep?

-Why do they all look like that? Are they all having good dreams?

The intoxicated sleepers dined on feasts in their dreams and soared freely through the Dryad Village, liberated from gravity’s constraints.

This was possible because their five senses were blocked in sleep, temporarily awakening their sixth sense. The village, built upon a powerful ley line, where fairies had held a festival—this phenomenon was the result.

“Snore~ Pfft!”

The temperature was warm and the liquor heated their bodies, so many had stripped to their underwear and collapsed outside the barracks.

“How undignified.”

“The men accompanying a king—what a spectacle.”

The discipline squad members (many abstaining for various reasons) surveyed the scene with disapproving expressions.

-Your Majesty. Aren’t they drinking too much, festival or not? Even when resting, there should be some military discipline.

-It’s fine. It’s a rare festival. The enemy isn’t another army—it’s potentially a dragon. They should enjoy themselves fully when they can.

-But what if enemies attack?

-The thorn wall is up, and the village militia warriors are handling defense. Homi and I will sleep at the perimeter tonight, so don’t worry too much.

-Understood.

During the festival, Eugene had protected them, but now it was morning. Playtime was over, and military discipline returned.

“Tighten those belts. We’re running a full circuit.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I could do this even after a full run without falling off.”

The discipline squad’s senior soldiers had their subordinates help strap large military drums to their chests.

“Those military band bastards. Completely wasted.”

The military band, who should have been carrying the drums in place of the discipline squad, had also drunk heavily and collapsed.

“Everyone ready?”

“Just give the order.”

At the discipline squad leader’s question, subordinates clutching large mallets answered. They stood on either side of the senior soldier’s drum, radiating fighting spirit.

Eugene had allowed an extra hour of sleep beyond the usual. When wake-up time arrived, no one showed signs of rising—if left alone, they’d sleep until noon.

That would disrupt their sleep schedule and hamper subsequent activities. If someone had to play the villain, that was the discipline squad’s role.

The leader’s fingers counted down from three, one at a time. The moment they clenched into a fist—

Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung!

The discipline squad began shattering the camp formation like a wedge.

“Knights!”

“Get up, you lot!”

“It’s time for sacred roll call!”

Low-ranking discipline squad members bustled about, ripping open tents.

Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung! Thung!

Whiiiistle!

The drumbeats and warning whistles poured in, jolting them awake.

“You’re not vagrants—why are you half-naked on the ground? Wake them up properly!”

“Yes, sir!”

Especially soldiers collapsed on the grass in embarrassing states received aggravated punishment. Discipline squad members with cymbals approached them.

Zzzzz.

Shadow fell over peacefully sleeping faces.

CLANG!!!

“Aaargh!”

“Wh-wh-wh-what?!”

The most powerful resonance sound in percussion jolted soldiers into rolling.

CLANG!!!

“Raid!”

“Come at me, you bastards!”

Some had apparently misconstrued the situation, leaping up with fists raised in fighting stance. Their eyes weren’t even fully open, but their combat posture, honed through countless training sessions, was perfect.

“That’s commendable.”

“That’s how a soldier should be.”

The discipline squad leader and adjutant nodded approvingly at that sight alone.

*

Lingering intoxication still disturbed body and mind, but the soldiers somehow managed to form ranks. Of course, the centurions and knights standing before them were no better.

“Sir Hind. Here’s some water.”

“Th-thank you.”

The always-composed Hind looked as if a dragon had roared in his face. His legs buckled momentarily, but he straightened quickly and splashed the water he was drinking onto his face.

Around his neck hung an acorn necklace gifted by the dryads.

“…Dismissed.”

Even knights, living weapons, staggered, but Eugene and Valda, who had consumed the most, were fine.

“A bit excessive, but when you play, you should play hard. When they fight, they risk their lives to hold their positions.”

“Everyone underestimated the fairy liquor.”

“There were dozens of varieties. They probably overindulged knowing they might never drink it again.”

The liquor, brewed from countless flowers, fruits, and herbs, couldn’t be bought outside for any price. Even a king would envy these spirits—there was no restraining the desire to taste at least one of each.

“Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“Your skin reeks of every kind of liquor.”

Valda pressed her petite nose to Eugene’s neck. She could drink dark elves under the table, but she couldn’t control what emanated from her skin.

“Lady Valda is the same.”

“I don’t smell.”

Valda’s face moved flexibly as she checked her arm and various places, but there was little difference.

“You can’t tell yourself. And you’re checking the wrong places. Elves emit a much stronger scent from their ears than their necks.”

“Really?!”

“Perhaps the smell rises and exits there.”

Mold mold.

“W-wait a moment.”

Naturally, Valda was no different.

*

After lunch, the intoxication faded and the army fully recovered. The lethargy from the morning vanished, and they looked ready to charge even at a dragon.

Led by the summoners, those seeking to trade rare herbs and catalysts bustled through the village.

“Is this really a grape?”

Among them was Teresa’s fruit, which amazed Eugene.

A single grape was the size of a plum, but each cluster bore far fewer grapes. The critical point was the fruit’s identity filling the grape’s skin.

“It is grape. And one that Lady Maria will be particularly fond of.”

“Me?”

Maria, suddenly pointed out, was puzzled, but she understood immediately. Teresa peeled the grape skin, revealing blood-red flesh.

“This is?!”

Maria reacted instantly. Her breathing quickened, lips parted, and cute fangs protruded. No proper noble of the night could resist this craving.

“It’s blood. Richer than anything I’ve ever smelled.”

Eugene, who had traversed battlefields, immediately recognized the flesh’s identity.

“A fruit developed at the late First Era royal house’s command. I’ve temporarily named it Blood Grape.”

“Why would our ancestors develop such a thing?”

Valda asked.

Developing hygiene products was commendable, but there was no conceivable reason to create blood-like fruit.

“At that time, vampires didn’t possess a powerful nation. They lived ascetic lives, subsisting on the blood of all manner of foul creatures. Conflicts over blood thirst were frequent. The royal house, unable to bear it, began research into stable blood supply.”

“Indeed. That’s typically their style of governance.”

Eugene could only marvel. No wonder this age was called an era of regression.

The First Era had great biological technology and magic.

The Second Era had exceptional military technology and stonemasonry.

Each era’s leading civilization drove worldly progress. But in the Third Era, much of that had been lost, even regressing.

Eugene handed Maria a wooden spoon.

“Want to try? This could influence our countrymen’s future diet.”

Unlike the raw blood pudding she’d tasted before, this special flesh maintained the grape’s plump appearance. But its blood scent was rich, and like fruit, it carried a subtle sweet fragrance.

Maria carefully brought the flesh to her lips.

“Oh…”

Her long eyelashes trembled.

As Maria’s lips moved, even Eugene nearby caught the deep fragrance. She closed her mouth like a proper noble lady, savoring it, but the breath she exhaled carried the fruit’s scent.

“How is it?”

“It feels like tasting the finest grape and the finest blood together. Unlike living creatures, the umami is lacking, but in return it’s remarkably pure. No matter how well-maintained blood always has some impurities, but this…”

“That’s because it grows only on water and spiritual energy. Speaking of umami…”

For Eugene, it was merely a rich blood scent, but a sommelier perceived it differently. Her adorable face was colored with ecstasy, and even her normally pale complexion showed a hint of blush.

“After the old royal house fell, it took a long time to complete development. I finally have someone to report the results to.”

“Your efforts are appreciated on behalf of the ancestors. You’ve maintained your loyalty to an order that no longer needed protecting.”

“I’m honored, Princess. Those words alone make the effort worthwhile.”

Teresa bowed with a smile at Valda’s praise.

“How difficult is it to cultivate?”

“Growing it in Barcia would be difficult. It’s an extremely artificial fruit, and without the royal house’s help during development…”

The giant grapes required a powerful forest spirit, like a dryad or royal elf.

But this was simultaneously a strength and weakness. It could serve as a bargaining chip in diplomacy with bloodkin nations including Barcia.

“We can continue researching.”

Unlike Eugene, Valda seemed determined to research until full supply was possible. Did she consider this a task passed down from the ancestors?

“Maria.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Maria, who had been eating a second piece of flesh, hastily swallowed and answered. Embarrassed by the blood on her lips, she extended her long red tongue to lick it, then grew self-conscious. Not the kind of behavior expected of a noble lady.

“We’ve found a good gift for your brother. I wonder what expression he’ll make when he sees this.”

“Indeed. The count, and all his vassals, will be flabbergasted.”

“If we made wine from this, what would it taste like?”

Maria swallowed hard, looking ready to take off her shoes right then.

“That said, perhaps we should change the name. Blood Grape is too sensational to introduce to the world. And it’ll be released under the elven royal house’s name.”

Everyone agreed with Eugene’s suggestion.

“Have anything in mind?”

“Remove the ‘blood’ from the name and emphasize other characteristics.”

“Red grape? That name’s already taken.”

Names connecting redness and blood were already claimed.

“How about Geobong? There’s no grape in this world larger than these.”

“Geobong. Geobong…”

“It sounds gracious. Easy to remember too.”

“A fittingly weighty name for fruit containing life. Not a cluster of grapes—more like a small treasure pouch.”

Valda, Teresa the developer, and Maria the primary consumer all responded with clear approval.

There was more to discuss about blood.

“Dragon blood is itself a form of magic.”

Blood of trolls or hydras, famous for spiritual power, or ogre blood used in crafting strength gauntlets—all cost more than their weight in gold. What then of dragon blood?

“I’ll have to smash it to death.”

At Eugene’s half-joking boast, Teresa smiled.

“Be careful. If the dragon is shedding blood, it will surely be consumed by rage. There are legends that a dying dragon’s hatred infuses its blood, manifesting as a powerful curse.”

“There are also tales of it becoming an elixir of immortality.”

At Valda’s words, Teresa nodded.

“Countless stories exist. The dragon appears so rarely, and virtually no one has seen its blood.”

Even Ragnar, Midgard’s dragon slayer, had all related records lost. If Eugene hadn’t obtained the dragon’s fang from Ragnar’s tomb, he would have dismissed it as legend at best.

“We’ll provide our finest potions for treating dragon blood.”

Eugene readily accepted Teresa’s offer. It couldn’t hurt to be cautious either way.

*

The Dryad Village was exceptionally safe, but not entirely without danger.

“Striga are targeting the village.”

“Those ugly crossbreeds live in this forest too?”

Teresa apologized while Maria spoke with contempt.

Like werewolves and wargs, both wolf beastkin but one closer to human and the other to beast, bloodkin also had striga—creatures infinitely closer to beasts.

They craved bodily fluids, especially blood. For this reason, Barcian nobles considered them archenemies.

“Striga killings are often blamed on Barcia, aren’t they?”

“Not just once or twice, Your Majesty. A Roman noble family visiting as a diplomatic delegation was once massacred by striga. If it hadn’t been cleaned up quickly, it would have sparked a war.”

Thanks to that, striga extermination was classified as a national project in Barcia.

“They’re probably the most cunning of all monsters. They understand the concept of war and even incite it. They don’t hesitate to feed on corpses either.”

Valda also grimaced. The thought of such foul creatures targeting this precious village was unpleasant.

“The striga were attracted by the grapes, weren’t they? Farming and pests are inseparable.”

“Exactly, Your Majesty. Though calling them pests is dangerously understated. They enter through underground caves that the thorn wall can’t protect.”

Teresa spoke with a troubled expression.

“Can those caves be sealed? It seems all manner of wicked things enter through them, causing damage.”

“We can’t do it alone. The ley line beneath this village draws beings of various natures. Those with opposite tendencies—belonging to the yin domain—have settled in one corner.”

The Dryad Village’s residents possessed various skills, but most were related to crafting and defense. They lacked the strength for active interception.

“Originally, each territory maintained its own space, coexisting well. But when striga, drawn by the grapes, began congregating, problems arose. Under their influence, other monsters started coveting the village too.”

“If the grapes were the cause, you should have stopped cultivation immediately. You didn’t, did you?”

Teresa placed her hand over her heart, looking at Valda.

“It was the last command of the old royal house. I wanted to fulfill it completely and present it to any descendant who might someday appear.”

“…”

Both Valda and Maria were too moved to speak.

“Good. This is something we must handle. Reciprocity demands reciprocal response.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. We won’t just watch. This concerns the village’s safety—our warriors will contribute as well.”

*

In a corner of the Dryad Village, before a cave that could bypass the thorn wall, Eugene’s subjugation force assembled.

“Attention.”

“Attention!”

At Eugene’s call, the knights and crossbowmen responded.

“Our primary objective isn’t annihilation. It’s to seal this cave and permanently eliminate outside intrusion.”

Eugene’s left hand pointed to those who would complete the sealing incantation. A mixed team of village fairy mages and Eugene’s summoners.

“We’ll eliminate any monsters we encounter, but the most critical task is protecting the seal casters. Don’t let ambition drive you to charge recklessly.”

“Understood!”

“And the village warriors will be fighting alongside us. Though they may look unfamiliar, they are now our brothers and friends. Treat them with care.”

This time, Eugene’s right hand indicated the village warriors. Not a single one had a human-like appearance.

“Your Majesty! They’re nothing but reassuring!”

“They’re the friends who listened intently to our adventure tales during the festival. The mushroom wine they brewed was excellent too.”

Two-meter-tall mushroom humans stood there, broad in build. They looked like shiitake mushrooms with limbs attached, arms nearly reaching the ground.

Their fingers—two on each hand—resembled boxing gloves. A species that seemed born to fight, in both reach and form.

“Graum.”

Thump! Thump!

The mushroom people struck their chests with their fists, gesturing for them to entrust the fight.

“Good. It’s time to resolve a task this village has long postponed.”

Eugene drew the Last Autumn, and the knights raised their weapons. A homework assignment postponed across two eras had finally begun.

*

Outside it was a rocky cave, but stepping inside revealed an entirely different world.

“Watch your footing.”

“Why is it so uneven?”

Twisted plant stems, roots, and bizarrely hardened mycelium lay everywhere.

“At least it’s not dark.”

Bioluminescent mushrooms glowed throughout.

“Why does the landscape keep getting weirder?”

As they ventured deeper, stems thickened, transforming like the veins of a giant.

“Land above a ley line is, in a sense, the boundary between this world and the other. If the Dryad Village is full of beings from the bright side, like a fairy realm, this place is exactly the opposite—the territory of those belonging to darkness.”

Alzhar, participating as a summoner, pointed to the host approaching from the far end of the advance route.

Groooo—.

A red-skinned monster, roughly human-sized, approached. Its voice carried extreme thirst.

“Hobgoblin?”

“No, it’s already dead. A wight.”

“It’s emaciated. Drained by striga?”

“Your Majesty, give me a chance!”

A glorious first engagement. Knights jostled for the opportunity, looking at Eugene.

“I’m afraid it’s not your turn.”

One mushroom person stepped forward toward the wight. The wight, drawn by the scent of living flesh, charged madly.

Hating the living was common among undead, but having been killed by striga, this one’s thirst for bodily fluids was especially intense.

The shiitake mushroom person halted. Curling a melon-sized fist, it pulled back. An impeccable fighter’s stance.

Pow!

An uppercut connected squarely with the wight’s jaw as it charged.

“Good lord.”

“What kind of punch…”

The hobgoblin’s head vanished. Torn clean off, not a drop of blood flowed from the severed neck, and the flying head shattered against the ceiling.

“There’s more coming!”

Darkness-dwelling residents, sensing intruders, poured out in earnest.

As Eugene’s subordinates gripped their weapons with fighting spirit, the mushroom people also stepped forward, unwilling to leave everything to their guests.

Pounding fists together or cracking their necks left and right—they were unmistakable fighters.

It was time to unleash the pent-up fury they’d accumulated as village residents over long years.