Nikolas Stirling

ou need to understand what these clothes are for. Think of them as a letter of introduction. When you meet with new business partners and clients as chairwoman of your company, you need to inspire trust. The right clothes are important for creating a good first impression.”

Society didn’t have much regard for the magical toolmaking craft. She’d been told that the likes of her were nothing compared to mages and alchemists. She couldn’t slay monsters with impressive blasts of fire or ice. She couldn’t heal people’s wounds. She couldn’t brew potions or conjure up precious metals like an alchemist. Even when she made something she was proud of, people would often question what the point of it was. Sometimes people wouldn’t read the instructions properly and dismissed her tools as useless or too much hassle. She’d been called tight-fisted over the prices of her magical tools and the arrangements in her contracts. Developing new tools felt like fumbling in the dark at times; her experiments were far more likely to fail than succeed. Sometimes, when looking at a pile of useless prototypes, she almost lost the will to go on. However carefully she performed her enchantments, she was constantly at risk of wasting her expensive materials, and she often did.
In spite of all this, there were many times in Dahlia’s life when she felt immensely glad to be a magical toolmaker. She was so happy each time someone smiled at her and told her how useful one of her tools had been to them. There was no better feeling than knowing a tool she’d created had made someone happier, even if only a little bit. On days like those, she was reminded why she could never give up this craft. Today was one of those days.

n her previous life, she’d tried so hard to please everyone that it had eventually killed her.

“Er, I...”

“So, um...”

They both broke the awkward silence at the same time, only to let it fall again. After a few seconds, it was Volf who again volunteered to revive the conversation.

“So...at the risk of sounding incredibly rude here, I have to ask you something. Are you expecting me to make a move? In that sense, I mean.”

“Not at all,” Dahlia answered immediately. She looked Volf in the eye and asked him a question in turn. “Are you expecting me to flirt with you?”

“No. I’m really, truly sorry I had to ask that question at all. I knew that wasn’t what you were after. I just couldn’t convince myself that a woman would invite me into her home without any other intentions.”

Volf removed his glasses briefly before sliding them back on again. Every time he looked at them, he was reminded of a certain magical toolmaker. The day he’d finally stumbled out of the forest after falling from the sky with the wyvern, he’d been saved by a young man who called himself “Dali.” The conversation they had was such a joy that Volf was left determined to see Dali again. His wish was soon granted, and the next time they met, they once again talked of magical swords and tools, enjoyed fine food, and raised many a glass to each other. Simply being in the company of that young woman—as she had turned out to be—was a genuine pleasure.

Dali—that is, Dahlia Rossetti—was a magical toolmaker. Volf had watched the sweat pour from her forehead like a waterfall as she’d enchanted the lenses in his glasses. As it had threatened to trickle into her eyes, she’d wiped it away with a sleeve, with no regard for gentility. Even as her makeup ran, her gaze never wavered from her work. Volf had been utterly captivated by the sight of her. Never in his life had he seen a woman look so earnest and so beautiful.

At the end of it, she had handed him these glasses. The lenses, enchanted with the magic of fairy glass, had shown Volf the world through the eyes of an ordinary man. They had allowed him, for the first time in his life, to blend into the streets of the royal capital. Though they had met only three times, Dahlia had changed his world. However, Volf desired nothing more from her than friendship. He wished only to remain by her side; to laugh and talk with her. He wanted to support her in all her toolmaking endeavors. Anything she desired, he wanted to give her. He was resolved to protect her from anything or anyone that would do her harm.

Volf desired nothing more from her than friendship. He wished only to remain by her side; to laugh and talk with her. He wanted to support her in all her toolmaking endeavors. Anything she desired, he wanted to give her. He was resolved to protect her from anything or anyone that would do her harm.

Yes, she was afraid. She was uneasy. She was unsure. But until she walked on her own two feet down a path of her own choosing, she couldn’t call herself a grown woman.

It was clear how happy he was to have met her, and he was firm in his conviction that they had built a strong friendship. However, a friendship between a young man and a young woman could easily transform into something more. If one happened to become attached to the other, everything could be turned on its head so quickly. Ah, but he was so young. He couldn’t see the way his eyes shone with happiness as he spoke of that woman he called a friend.

“You really are in love, aren’t you? With magical swords, I mean.”

Though Dahlia was none the wiser, as she spoke, Volf’s breathing stopped dead for just a moment. Right between her first sentence and her second, to be exact.