A hero’s tale does not stand alone on the hero alone. There must be great evils to be vanquished, beautiful princesses to be saved, and the people who support the hero for the tale to be complete.
Among these elements, the role of adding pace and humor sometimes gains popularity.
The fortunate, or unfortunate, Siegfried is known in the golden-haired saga and is regarded as Erich’s unbeatable battle companion.
Poets say the comedic relief is also convenient for introductions in stories.
“Oh, Siegfried! You’re back!”
With joy, Erich stood tall in front of the tavern, rushing to the adventurer who was his indispensable comrade in the saga. However, the hand trying to embrace his shoulder was brushed off, and his collar was roughly grabbed.
“What the hell do you mean by an easy escort job? Do you want to know what I’ve been through, you bastard!?”
The group of adventurers who accompanied him from the bathhouse, chanting in sympathy, “Good work, D’s boss!”—and Siegfried’s predictable outburst of “Call me Siegfried!”—was a known tradition. However, all this was ignored by “Fortunate Siegfried,” whose golden locks stood defiant. Though their ongoing banter might make one worry it could turn into a near-duel, the golden-haired adventurer maintained a calm grin.
“Alright, I’ll listen to your adventures while we drink. But where’s Lady Kaya and the others you brought along?”
“They’re tired and resting at the inn!! I can barely stand myself! And if you knew about that beforehand and sent me, I’ll hang you!”
“Hey now, have I ever given you work just to hassle you?”
Upon recalling the past, Siegfried seemed unable to respond, his lips twisting awkwardly with his wounds. Reflecting calmly, this man did indeed carefully vet jobs, and if plotted against, it was usually due to situations that made sense. Additionally, he had cleverly managed to secure compensations.
Still, the opportunities and circumstances were so impeccably perfect that it almost seemed like there were strings being pulled from behind.
This very state was the reason Siegfried earned both the titles of being fortunate and unfortunate. Suffering hardships due to unexpected situations, client lies, or intricate conspiracies was Siegfried’s misfortune. However, the fact that he survived, without losing a single limb, even in situations where an average person would have died hundreds of times, was the reason for his nickname of good fortune.
It appeared that this latest job was also filled with hardships. Even though he was becoming well-known now, even without the golden-haired title, it seemed his presence was needed, indicating that even without the insane golden hair, all wasn’t perfectly safe.
“Just calm down. You don’t appear seriously injured. It seems the job ended satisfactorily.”
“If you call that ending satisfactorily, everything’s fine in the world…”
The battle companion who hung his head was interrupted by “but more importantly” as an unworldly prelude, and the golden-haired man gestured the black-haired sorcerer and the new ogre over.
A face so beautiful that it startled Siegfried—so beautiful that it transcended gender norms and dazzled even masculine individuals—had been unexpectedly presented. This beauty was unique enough that Siegfried, who occasionally saw beautiful women and girls, seemed unable to process what he was seeing.
“Let me introduce you. This is my friend, soon to become one of the esteemed professors at the imperial capital’s Magic Academy—someone I’ve spoken about many times, right?”
“Oh, indeed…”
Amidst grand rhetoric filled with praise and glorified descriptions of the friend from the imperial capital, he had heard these stories at banquets before. Typically, such discussions started from a job-related context: “If I had more magic, it would be easier,” but frankly, Siegfried thought there couldn’t possibly be someone so perfect.
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Mika. Your reputation, ‘Fortunate Siegfried,’ precedes you. I’ve heard about your exploits through letters and it’s a pleasure to meet a man of your renown.”
Nevertheless, encountering such reality left the brain struggling to process the immense beauty. Being praised as a formidable man by someone who looked more like a stunning beauty than a handsome man made it difficult to process emotionally.
Moreover, calling him formidable. Hearing it from someone taller, led Siegfried to ponder whether it was mockery or not, especially when said with a tone that sounded genuinely friendly—leaving him unsure if it was sincere admiration or insult.
In any case, it wasn’t wise to leave the hand extended by someone of evidently noble stature unattended. Taking a breath, Siegffried shook it, startled by the unexpectedly robust and strong hand.
The calloused palms and distinct hands were far from what one would expect from a scholar or magic-user, instead hinting at evident signs of training. As mental images began to sync with actual evidence, it became clear that the lavish praise was, indeed, genuine.
“And this one is the newest recruit to the Sword Friends Association.”
“Hey, I’m Yorgos! Who would’ve thought I’d get to meet the illustrious Siegfried himself! It’s amazing! Umm, can I shake your hand!?”
Still reeling from the overwhelming beauty he was subjected to moments ago, Siegfried was introduced to a towering figure. Even he, experienced in dealing with tall adventurers, drew a breath at the sight of this long-limbed ogre.
Even so, Siegfried was accustomed to larger-than-life adventurers; except for a few smaller races, he usually stood shorter than most seniors in the Sword Friends Association, making such moments nothing unusual.
Besides, he had grown accustomed to visitors seeking out the stories of heroes—not excluding tales where he wasn’t the main protagonist.
“Yeah, you’re welcome, first giant I meet. Cheers, count on me, alright!”
The stunning beauty causing chaos in his mind wasn’t enough, but regaining his stride made him realize it was just another day.
“Yes!! I mean, being able to meet both you, the golden-haired comrade and ally, on the same day? Totally worth it!”
“Like hell I am a buddy!! Who’s your ally, huh!!”
As usual, it ended with the same predictable conclusion. Siegfried’s frustration was cheered on by the other members of the Sword Friends who found the exchange entertaining.
“You’re at it again with your usual denial!”
“No way is that cute when ‘Dee’s boss’ does it!”
“You’ve been denying it for over a year now, that’s talent!”
“Shut up! Next training session’s on you losers! You’ve pushed my buttons!”
Whether it was the cheering that irritated him, or the irritation that led to the cheering, it didn’t matter—this fortunate adventurer thrived on it.
Golden-haired and exasperated, he shook his head with a sigh and grabbed the tavern door, signaling his intent to drink.
With the evening approaching and dinner time bringing in an influx of adventurers and travelers, the Snowwolf Tavern was bustling. While some unrelated to the Sword Friends were already eating, the group was swollen with loafers looking for a free drink. Golden-haired and generous, Siegfried’s reputation had spread, and even more loafers had gathered.
The onlookers welcomed the golden-haired figure back with calls and comments about his tardiness.
“Friends, I’ve kept you waiting! Tonight, I’ll treat you all! Let us honor the arrival of my guests together!”
Amidst a rising chorus, the server brought wines and appetizers to tables—plates filled with sausages and chunks of cheese. Each item, individually affordable, was impressive as it spread throughout the tavern.
Golden-haired and seemingly unconcerned about the expense, he eagerly accepted his own amber distilled drink to savor.
As the wine spread throughout the room, the golden-haired figure rose and scanned for someone. Leaning and peeking into shadows, it seemed that whom he sought wasn’t there.
After some coaxing from restless patrons, the golden-haired figure raised a toast to the visiting friends.
“Cheers to the friends from distant lands!”
A timid response from the sorcerer followed, his cup raised slightly as everyone began drinking, shedding their inhibitions and indulging solely in their appetites. Without the worry over wallets or bed, reason vanished into the chaos that ensued.
Members of the Sword Friends scattered among the various tables, raising cups to greet the golden-haired figure as their leader. They bowed in respect to both him and Siegfried, who they regarded slightly above themselves, then acknowledged the esteemed guests, the sorcerer, and the ogre with formal introductions.
The sorcerer in the seat beside the honored guest followed the customs, drinking a glass of beer from each person, finishing all with a single breath. The crowd watched in amazement as he quickly emptied each glass. The lips’ edge, where the least bit of wine might have spilled, was charismatically wiped away with a red tongue.
Gradually, cheers grew deeper, shifting into groans of admiration. Even a common human would surely have blushed by the fifth glass and collapsed by the tenth.
Still, the sorcerer showed no change; his cheeks only slightly reddened after the fifteenth, maintaining a composed and unwavering demeanor.
His steady hand and ceaseless throat movements suggested he was merely quenching a dry throat.
“Hey, my friend, are you alright? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”
Turning his attention to the remarkable drinker, the golden-haired figure questioned him. He could recall a time when his friend wasn’t remembered as much of a drinker. There were instances when drinking undiluted wine together led to his friend dozing off in deep slumber.
The last day in the capital, the memory of carrying his drunken friend to bed and laying down together lingered as vividly as yesterday.
“Eh!? Oh, well…yeah…”
Unconsciously, the sorcerer’s eyes darted side to side. Being from the northern regions where winters were long and harsh, his people had naturally developed a resistance to alcohol to survive the bitter cold. The very notion of being a lightweight in these regions was an alien concept.
However, unaware of this fact, the worried friend believed he was genuinely looking out for him—offering drinks wasn’t mandatory, and alcohol should be enjoyed in moderation.
“Oh, yeah, I’m starting to feel it a bit now…”
“If so, let me take the rest. I’ll drink them all in your place.”
The response, formal even amidst the playful atmosphere, alerted observers who instantly recognized its oddness. Yet, the golden-haired figure was oblivious, loudly announcing that he would take over for the toasts, and ordered lemon juice as an antidote to drunkenness.
With a forced laugh, accepting his care, the sorcerer slightly grinned, acknowledging that he might have gone a little overboard.
By the time the initial rounds and toasts were done and the golden-haired figure had downed many drinks, the tables began to settle into discussions.
“Wow, you sure can drink… oh mighty one.”
At a five-person round table occupied by golden-haired and company, there were but four, including the ogre Yoorgos, matching the pace of the golden-haired figure glass for glass.
“An adventurer must be strong when it comes to alcohol…”
Hiding his actual drink, the water heavily diluted honey wine, Siegfried offered a noncommital response—a hint of shame evident as they continued toasting.
“Not that being a heavy drinker makes you great, anyway. Simply an impression thing, and generally speaking. You don’t want to make strange contracts in a daze, do you?”
While uttering those words, the golden-haired figure prepared his amber drink, carefully diluting it and savoring it deeply. Despite having consumed copious amounts of beer without any apparent discomfort, his unchanged countenance was impressive even for the ogre.
“But still, you’ve been strong since forever, and I wish to emulate you.”
Calmly shifting to cold-water lemonade, the sorcerer nonchalantly proclaimed his admiration while munching on dried meat.
“Mmm…delicious!”
“You like it? I experimented during food preservation and it’s our association’s proud creation. It’s not just for pairing with alcohol—it also alleviates marching fatigue and makes a great soup base when boiled.”
“Wow! I never knew you messed around with cooking besides just making food, but this is surprisingly good!”
Gratified, the sorcerer reached for more seasoned pork, dried herbs and pulses paste, smoked meat designed for preservation crafted by the golden-haired figure.
Preservation food might seem basic; the cost and the creator’s expertise matter, yet often results disappointingly salt-heavy and unpalatable. Yet explorers sometimes eat while walking, so carry food is indispensable even for short gigs.
The golden-haired figure realized it could be economical to make their own and boost morale through tasty provisions.
Pooling funds, buying a pig—processing meat, blood, organs into preservation food—became a customary event, noted for liveliness and enticing fragrances.
“Indeed? The fruit of six months of trials.”
“And eating the failures wasn’t so pleasant…”
Making small batches for experimentation yielded numerous failed dishes which the association was obliged to consume to not waste it.
“It’s not like I ate all the failed stuff myself!”
“You found ways to improve it and didn’t invite me!? Then how the hell could there be a revolt one step away!?”
Food disputes run deep, and even master-student bonds may fracture. Discovering the creator had enjoyed better food while they endured the subpar was a betrayal—no surprise, as even mighty ships could turn from rotten cans, and why not soldiers for their grievances?
“No, I certainly wouldn’t have just eaten them…”
“Why does a guy so meticulous about cooking stay out of the kitchen! Have you never heard, ‘A man doesn’t enter the kitchen’?!”
“What nonsense! Those who can should do it! Besides, I’ve already trained you in some survival cooking. You should try it yourself and not leave it all to Lady Kaya…”
“Shut up!”
With wine flowing, a fissure seemed to form in the repression of complaints, allowing a barrage of complaints from Siegfried’s mouth. All were gracefully received with a relaxed smile akin to dealing with an energetic puppy.
Seeing the friendly camaraderie between friends, the dark-haired sorcerer unconsciously pouted for a brief moment, though being a mature adult, he understood it was childishly trivial. Such behaviors should not surface, even briefly, after years in the Magic Academy where acting natural was as essential as breathing.
Meeting an old friend after so long might have contributed, or perhaps the wine had loosened his control. Regardless, regaining composure through sips of water, the sorcerer decided a break from the group would do him good.
Deciding to fetch snacks himself rather than call the ever-hovering, tipping-seeking waitresses, he rose quietly, intending a short break from the crowd.
As he approached the counter, the usually present, bearded innkeeper with dark curls was absent.
“Welcome, what can I get for you?”
In his place sat a girl. Her upper body leaned on the counter, arms supporting her chin. The owner’s daughter, perhaps?
Her glossy, chestnut hair tied in a neat ribbon and adorned with a striking black hair ornament complemented her revealing yet traditional garb, marred solely by intricate vine-like tattoos across her shoulders.
Her large, vivid amber eyes were more radiant than the sorcerer’s, appearing almost hostile in certain lights. Her sweet, childish face, however, bore a grin that made her appear dangerously cunning, and her prominently visible pearl-like fangs gleamed in the lamplight—much longer than a human’s canine teeth.
With a serene yet imposing presence, she smiled.
“Do you remember, lovely magic user?”
Before he could ask for additional snacks, the girl spoke, puzzling the sorcerer. Instinct whispered danger.
She looked harmless. No weapon was visible or hinted at, her hands clearly in view. No magical focus artifacts adorned her. Yet the image of a severed head lingered, leading the sorcerer to subconsciously reinforce his constant physical defense barrier, hidden under his robes.
All was fine. His defenses were active. Any standard projectiles would bounce harmlessly off the shield generated by the emergency staff tucked away in his robes.
“Would you like to chat a bit?”
And yet, the sorcerer questioned his sanity. There was no reason for antagonism here, and the bartender’s young daughter was unarmed.
But still, somewhere deep within, he knew this preparedness was essential. Thus, with a subtle awareness of his surroundings, he chose to sit back down.
—
At some point in the distant past, during a drinking session with friends, the sorcerer recalled the golden-haired one explaining that a smile was originally a carnivorous beast’s way of showing its teeth.
“Hey, handsome magic user—”
—
The moment for a grand showdown begins. Stay tuned for upcoming developments!
