Henderson Scale 0.1
A slight detour from the main storyline—an RPG trope.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of the autumn festival, a group of young women gathered, drinking and letting loose.
All of them were unmarried girls: second or third daughters of farming families with low marriage priority due to illness in the household or other reasons, left behind without prospects of marriage. They gossiped and envied the brides who had found their matches.
While their words might suggest a slightly morose gathering, their envy carried the air of schoolgirls teasing a classmate for finding a boyfriend first. Though some might be more or less ahead in the game, with no recent great war, there were plenty of men in the manor. A little patience would see their turn come around. Thus, there was no real cause for them to feel isolated.
Even so, some still seethed. A girl of their age dressed in immaculate, adorable white, held happily in the arms of her husband-to-be, could not help but spark envy. What maiden would call herself such without any trace of jealousy?
Their usual self-restraint—practiced under the longstanding belief in the Threefold Empire that one should avoid fats and consume vegetables to preserve beauty—seemed cast away that day. Here they were, shamelessly devouring the festival’s feast, glancing sideways at the celebrating couples.
Perfectly marinated pork, rich milk stews brimming with dumplings, crispy-fried pork, and towering mounds of sausages were attacked with fervor and forks.
There weren’t even traces of the fresh vegetables that were touted as beauty aids; only the pickled turnips brought in as mere garnish and palate cleansers stood meekly by.
“Truly…”
Among this banquet, a girl who had been drawn into the scene merely due to being single sighed. Her charm, despite being merely fifteen years old, was almost otherworldly. Though seated humbly among the reveling maidens in a circle of tatami mats, her presence stood out peculiarly, though she was treated as a fully mature woman in the manor.
Her name was Margit. She was from a family of hunters within the manor, and being newly of age, she was a spider-person. Though her petite stature and adorable features suggested youth, she was, in fact, an incredibly skilled hunter—a fact hard to fathom at first glance.
Sipping delicately on honey-water-diluted wine, Margit observed her overly emotional compatriots with mild disdain. It was almost admirable how much fuel jealousy provided for their excitement. Conversations about the grooms’ statuses and preferences flowed endlessly.
“What gives you the right to act so detached?!”
“So there! You’ve reached adulthood, too, and you’re still single!”
Two of her peers interrupted her exasperated sigh. The first, a human girl who flopped heavily next to her, was Hilda. The second, whose arm encircled Margit’s neck (forcing her to resist her instinct to snap it) and rested her chin on Margit’s shoulder was the dwarf Alicia.
Margit was not the only one among those who had recently come of age and lacked a partner. Yet, despite the abundance of men, marriage was not a simple matter of filing paperwork and cohabitation—it came with a variety of obstacles. Both Alicia and Hilda were quite tipsy, celebrating the festival in full, unrestrained revelry.
Drunkards, no matter the world, seem to gravitate toward the sober and pestering them.
“I’m fine, truly.”
Margit exhaled delicately, her smile disarming. A smile so mature and captivating that even her peers hesitated, even if only for a moment. But they were drunk and impervious to any sense of danger thanks to the alcohol coursing through their veins, allowing them to continue their taunts.
“Only relaxed because of Erich, huh?”
“Yeah, but you’re not really married yet… he might find someone else in the city!”
No one in the manor was unaware of why Margit carried herself so easily. It was common knowledge that Erich, renowned as a brilliant scholar and the fourth son of Johannes’ family, and Margit had a deep bond. The townsfolk all knew it was only a matter of time before their relationship would deepen into matrimony.
Their exchange of a single earring, symbolizing some form of promise before he left for the Imperial Capital, spread like wildfire through the gossip-hungry manor. In a countryside where entertainment was scarce, keeping tabs on relationships was almost a form of leisure in itself.
No taste for malice here; there simply wasn’t much else to entertain them. The occasional bard passing through, board games, or wrestling matches and drinking contests in the fields constituted the villagers’ pastimes.
So, the two drunken maidens were privy to Margit’s equanimity despite her unmarried status. Being the eldest daughter of a deputy-approved hunting family and having received a proper education yet without a suitor would typically cause distress. But her calm observation of others’ antics while sipping her wine hinted at someone far away—her childhood friend.
“Still, the Imperial Capital, right? Lots of fashionable people, aren’t there?”
“Yeah, and, like, Erich is so cute… Maybe before becoming a scholar like Johannes or Heinz, some elegant city woman will snatch him up!”
Thus, their taunts took shape—insults they might not dare say while sober. This was envy, pure and simple—the kind felt for a childhood friend who’d secured a rare treasure in the manor.
And yet, this was also a plausible concern.
The classic tale: a man leaves for the city to earn his fortune, gets swept off his feet by a sophisticated urban woman, forgets his marriage vows, and never returns. Such stories, though not frequent, were enough to leave marks of broken hearts in Königsstuhl occasionally.
With his skills and the ability to earn money since childhood, Erich was indeed at risk of being ‘consumed’ by the big city, for a man who could earn money, whether in urban or rural settings, was bound to be popular.
At this point, any typical damsel might feel a tremor of unease. Hearts, after all, sway. Even the most steadfast beliefs can waver under external pressure, casting seeds of doubt. For the weaker heart, this might lead to tears and torment, while the stronger might look to the heavens for solace, thinking fondly of their beloved to quell the uncertainty.
But Margit was no tender, pious maiden.
“Oh well, so what?”
What… what? The casual certainty in her response left her tormentors speechless.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it, that the one you’re infatuated with is desired by others? It’s proof that you’ve chosen a partner of great worth.”
Ignoring their skeptical stares, Margit, the spider-person, downed another sip of her diluted wine, exhaling a breath tinged with alcohol, her passion for the subject rising. Even diluted, the weak alcohol tolerance of the spider-person kind was enough to cloud the brain.
“It’s like hunting. You’ve heard of the Gray King, haven’t you? The alpha wolf with a bounty of 100 drachmas, a threat compared to dragons, who bested countless hunters—devouring half of them.”
Her tale of the great beast—a staple of southern storytelling in the Threefold Empire—was widely known. Tales of incredibly cunning wolves roaming the land, ravaging homesteads and leaving a scar worse than any war, were still fresh in memory.
For a decade, the southern territories were plagued by this creature. Despite the deputy’s bounty, no hunter returned. Eventually, the royal family offered a reward—a hundred gold coins, a fortune—to anyone who could eliminate the creature. The wolf’s cunning knew no bounds: it avoided poison, soiled traps, ambushed hunters from behind, and even turned armies against themselves. Yet, a band of adventurers eventually defeated it.
The tale lived on in the form of minstrels’ songs and bedtime stories. The wolf’s legacy of terror remained unshaken throughout time, immortalized by the clan of royal descendants ruling the south, who kept its fur as an everlasting coat, a symbol of valor.
“So what if he plays around, or lets others play with him? That’s part of the fun of the hunt. The best prey is the one everyone else covets.”
The Threefold Empire’s moral code generally upheld monogamy, valuing chastity and fidelity. However, the allure of a desirable man could spark competition. The self-control people exercised was more a matter of decorum than true restraint. Human nature, after all, could not easily defy instinct.
“Ultimately, as long as he ends up with me at the last, that’s all that matters.”
For Margit, belonging to a near magical species, following her desires simply meant being honest to herself.
“Isn’t that what love is about, after all?”
With a bright smile, she held out her empty cup, silently commanding her friends to refill it. Unable to truly protest, the two young women forced smiles and offered her more drink and food…
The Threefold Empire may generally embrace monogamy, but high-ranking lords often keep concubines or lovers without regard to gender. Love and marriage, wherever humans tread, weave endless stories of joy and sorrow—untitled tales spun endlessly throughout every land.
This story takes place around the time Erich, realizing “Crap, it’s snowing in the north already?!” was rushing to make his way back to the capital. Once more proving, a childhood friend’s worth transcends all else.
