Vol 2 Chapter 3 – Boyhood – Early Autumn, at Twelve • Part 3

By early afternoon, the festival grounds were buzzing with excitement.

The magistrate’s celebratory remarks from the early morning were simple—and, as in previous years, wrapped up in just a few minutes.

When Eckehart, the knight of the Thuringen Empire, appeared in imposing armor, clad in a breastplate and flanked by several riders, he offered a few words from horseback, praying for this year’s bountiful harvest and a peaceful winter, then departed. Surely, similar ceremonies must have been held at the other manors as well.

Incidentally, the sermon that served in place of a mass was brief. After all, the festival itself is a sacred verse, hymn, and prayer to the god of abundance; there’s no need for unnecessary embellishment. I don’t believe the famously booze-loving priest shouted “The rest is omitted!” just to get on with drinking. I’d like to think so. Probably that’s how it was… Let’s just go with that.

And so, within only a few hours of the festival’s start, all the townspeople were already thoroughly inebriated.

“Hmm, are you drinking?”

“Yeah, I’m drinking, I’m drinking…”

Margit—who, as usual, had something dangling around her neck like a necklace—was also impressively drunk.

The sight of a young maiden, her face flushed bright red as she slurred incoherently, was downright criminal—but in this world, it’s perfectly legal. In the Mie Empire, where it is customary to drink water that has been either boiled or passed through a simple filter made of gravel, charcoal, and cloth, both methods are too costly; so for everyday drinking, water is usually disinfected with alcohol.

Moreover, the southern part of the empire is a relatively warm grape-growing region. Although it’s colder than the cluster of small southern states facing the South Inland Sea, grapes grow in abundance here, making wine extremely affordable. At this time of year, if you step onto the roads, you’ll see countless carts—horse- or ox-drawn—loaded to the brim with grapes destined for the church’s brewery.

And since today is a day of celebration, a huge number of wine barrels have been brought out from the church’s cellar. Drinking the strong, undiluted grape wine and letting loose naturally leads to this. You don’t even need to go check for yourself why a “sour smell” drifts from the grove away from the square.

It’s only just past noon and look at this state—can this manor really pull it together with the ceremony about to begin?

Well, given that the weddings held so far have always managed to work out somehow, I think it’ll be fine. If I imagine the worst-case scenario, the newlyweds—swept up in their excitement—might just get it on prematurely.

Yeah, it would certainly be a disaster. But since everyone’s so drunk, most won’t remember a thing, and the overall damage will be relatively minor.

“Mmph, don’t ignore me…”

It had been a while since I heard Margit speak in plain imperial language instead of courtly language. When I looked down, I saw her with her head hanging loosely and her cheeks puffed up in discontent.

“I told you you were drinking too much…”

“Hey, I’ve only had a little…”

There’s no denying her words. Two or three cups might be just a bit for most—but unfortunately, that doesn’t hold true for us spider-people. Though our digestive systems are tougher than those of humans, our ability to break down alcohol is low.

Which is why I can only wonder what she was thinking when she drank.

“Aren’t you going around the stalls? With you like this, you won’t be able to make the rounds!”

“It’s all right, isn’t it? Erich is going to take me with him, isn’t he?”

Margit, rubbing her cheek against my chest like a spoiled kitten, made me worry that her cherry-colored blush might transfer onto my clothes—yet, as always, my usual outfit remained untainted by makeup. …Is that really how you spider-people are? Scary, indeed.

But, unfortunately, I can’t take her along. I need to go change now.

“No way—it’s Heinz nii-san’s ceremony starting now. I have to go change.”

“Eh~?”

This kid must have forgotten why I haven’t had a clingy little sister sticking around lately. All those complicated matters must have simply dissolved into the alcohol and evaporated from your brain.

“Alright, alright—let go. I have to go change.”

“Nooo~!”

Not “nooo” at all; you’re already fourteen, and by next summer you’ll be considered an adult. Sure, you only look a bit older than Eliza, but I haven’t forgotten that you’re two years older than me.

Even if you throw a cute tantrum… tan—trum… even if you do…

“Let go, let go!”

“Erich, you little meanie!”

With steely determination, I suppressed the impulsive thought of “Let’s just keep playing together!” and lifted my arm to free your neck from my grasp. Now that you’ve grown—no longer as small as before—lowering you while you look up at me with teary eyes and scold me makes me feel as though I’m doing something terribly wrong, which is extremely troubling.

On top of that, we’re in a public square. All around, groups of drunken men—some of whom were childhood playmates—were milling about.

“Hey, what’s with you, Erich? Not bringing anyone along, huh?!”

“Since you’re out here, why not take someone along for a stroll!”

“I’m so jealous, you life-celebration zealot!”

Drunks really have no filter. And kind words don’t get through to such people.

“I’ll beat you drunks to death!!”

Though I raised my arm in response to their crude taunts, all I got in return was a mocking whistle. Incidentally, here “stroll” means taking someone, blindfolded, into a wooded area and disappearing together—in fact, I witnessed several couples leave in a hurry.

Incidentally, “life-celebrationism” is just a roundabout term for lolicon. There’s a story from long ago about a clergyman’s scandalous book whose protagonist was criticized for obsessing over magical or non-human races that could only be described as “childish” by human standards. He defended himself by claiming that his adoration was nothing more than a pure admiration for the vibrant, unspoiled energy of youth. That story has come down to us.

Eh? That clergyman? He even had a thing for older non-human types, so he got beaten up from all sides and was excommunicated. The fact that the ecclesiastical body can excommunicate even someone from the imperial line without batting an eye leaves no doubt that this country’s clerical circle is nothing short of a radical faction.

Leaving aside that childhood friend who, with teary eyes, can launch a “social judgment” attack on me, I set off for home without delay—determined not to acquire the unwanted title of “lolicon.” After all, at this age—even though in this world I’m considered half an adult—I have no intention of listing my family connections on my item sheet.

Well, after being together this long, I can’t deny that I do have some merit.

“Hey, you’re late, Erich.”

Back in our family’s living room, my brother was already all set.

His white-dyed pool pon didn’t quite suit the increasingly austere face that took after our father, but the rare sight of him slicking his chestnut hair back with hair oil made him look a bit more dashing.

His tanned face and rugged hands hardly gave the impression of a refined noble’s offspring, yet my brother still looked splendid.

“How do I look? Does it suit me?”

“Yes, it suits you, onii-chan.”

Hearing him say “I see,” while shyly rubbing the spot under his nose, I couldn’t help but think he was still the same brother who once handed me a wooden sword in my childhood—but I was impressed by how splendidly he’d grown, carrying himself with the calm air of someone nearly in his mid-forties.

I felt nostalgic for those days when our father drilled us in courtly language side by side to correct our rough speech, even though it’s a past I’d rather erase from all our memories as quickly as possible.

Anyway, I’ve grown a lot compared to the days when, with my nose to the ground, I chased after adventurers and scurried through the woods in search of fairy coins. I’ve even learned arithmetic—which I used to be terrible at—and, most importantly, I can now speak proper courtly language.

Now our family is set.

While exchanging affectionate teasing with my brother about how children are always so cheerful, I also donned the formal attire provided for me—but then I noticed that the other two brothers were missing.

“Ah, they got completely sloshed… Now they’re with Father by the well. And Eliza, since it’s said to be bad for her education, is getting changed at Mina’s house.”

Those foolish brothers of mine really… first they slack off, and now they’ve gotten utterly wasted. By now, Father is probably fuming, and in stark contrast, he’s lavishly dousing them with the icy well water using the hand pump—I was quite surprised that it’s actually in use.

Since it is late autumn after the harvest, we both hoped they wouldn’t catch a cold, but then two huge sneezes echoed from the back garden, dashing our hopes…

【Tips】Alcohol is consumed nationwide because it helps disinfect water. However, among species that can function even in muddy water, it’s not uncommon for some to lack resistance to alcohol.

The wedding wasn’t a grandiose ceremony so much as a raucous celebration.

The ceremonies held by commoners in the manor are typically noisy affairs completely divorced from any sense of nobility. Drunken guests hurl jeers and taunts, the groom retorts in a vulgar manner, and if anyone goes too far, it’s a given that the priest will give them a good thrashing.

It was a simple ceremony—walking down a virgin road where flower petals flew amid jeers, exchanging vows after receiving prayers from the priest of the god of abundance.

After that? It turned into nothing more than a festival banquet. The entire manor’s folk, mingling with the bride and groom, danced wildly. They switched partners and tunes one after another; when tired, they grabbed a bite, and when thirsty, they drank. And as dusk fell, everyone hoisted the bride and groom, paraded them through the village, and then, amid crude jeers, tossed them into their sleeping quarters.

Then, after being thoroughly egged on by those around them, they departed, and the after-party—strictly speaking, if one counts the morning and afternoon segments, perhaps it was the third party—began.

It was rather rough, and some might say barbaric if they saw it, but I felt this was more fun than a ceremony filled with strange speeches and frivolous entertainments. Well, if someone were to point out that I’m merely resentful compared to the wedding of my past life—where even at thirty I remained single and had nothing but memories of departing wedding gifts—I’d have no retort.

Anyway, it was indeed a good ceremony.

My brother, walking arm in arm with the bride, looked proud, and Mina—who, unlike Margit and me, exuded a criminally shady aura (at first glance, downright intimidating)—also blushed and appeared happy.

There are many marriages that are purely practical, driven by family ties or money, but that doesn’t mean the individuals involved aren’t happy.

“Onii-chan.”

“Hmm?”

While I was sitting in a corner of the square, relaxing, Eliza—sitting on my lap—tugged at my clothes. She was worried I might collapse if I got caught up in that wild dancing, so I was keeping a protective watch over her.

“Onii-chan, aren’t you going to dance?”

“Well, it’s not really my thing.”

Half in jest, half in truth—I do have the confidence to adapt my swordsmanship into a proper dance among them—but there’s simply no one to dance with. Margit was energetic even during the ceremony, but just a moment ago she downed a swig of mead in one go—a strong brew meant for humans, distilled with medicinal herbs—so now, she has no partner.

Of course, just like Mikhail and Hans, who, even after being doused with water, were energetically dancing and sneezing in turn, for some reason, girls our age haven’t danced in a while.

Perhaps by now, Margit has been bundled into bed, and come tomorrow, she’ll be inseparable from a bucket.

Anyway, being the fourth son, he won’t have any prospective brides, so I don’t know what he’s so worried about.

“Was it good, dancing with Eliza?”

“Eliza is special.”

So, earlier, I only danced a little with Eliza in the corner. Even though I did dance with her—simply by scooping her up when she pleaded and slowly spinning her around, without really taking any proper steps—it was fine since she seemed to enjoy it.

“Special.”

Mmmph—she sighed happily. My cute little sister, leaning her head against my chest and kicking her feet, looked adorable.

But since she’s my actual little sister… if in four or five years she starts calling me “annoying big brother,” I feel like crying already. I suppose if she behaved that way, I’d cry without a second thought. Just the thought makes my heart tighten.

“Ah, that’s right, Eliza, shall we go look at the stalls?”

“Stalls?”

“That’s right. There are unusual foods and even poets are here!”

When I suggested it—perhaps to distract myself from my bittersweet feelings—my little sister, who rarely roams outside and thus seldom gets a chance to satisfy her curiosity, eagerly agreed. Since it’s festival day, Father has given her an allowance, so she can probably buy a thing or two.

Carrying my excited little sister in my arms, I headed toward an area where caravan merchants had set up their stalls…