Flaretart's Father Made a Rare Trip Home

That day, Flaretart's father made one of his rare trips home.

The daughter he'd offered up to a prince branded as incompetent, all in a bid to ingratiate himself with the royal family. He'd gone to the trouble of forcing her into the same school, the same class, only to run into the snag of the boy taking a leave of absence… but it seemed he'd since returned to school, and that there had already been some progress.

"Flaretart. Report to me. How did today's 'tea party' go?"

"… Yes, Father."

For some reason, Flaretart wore a gloomy expression.

"First, about the magic sword you lent me, Father…"

"Ah. A splendid item, wasn't it? It's the pride of our house. A piece with a storied history, obtained when my grandfather fought alongside the dwarves to subjugate the Dark Dragon."

"It was panned. Mercilessly."

"Huh?"

The abrupt remark made Flaretart's father knit his brow.

"… A matter beyond an amateur's understanding, perhaps?"

"Lord Deasalt's five wives are all consummate magic tool artisans. There's no mistaking it."

"On what grounds!"

"These are the grounds, Father."

And then, the butler arranged four small objects on the desk.

… A butter knife, a pendant, a ring, a teapot.

Even looking at them, Flaretart's father understood nothing and tilted his head.

"And what are these supposed to be?"

"Four magic tools the dwarven wives whipped up on the spot."

"Magic tools? These?"

"Yes."

And then Flaretart first picked up the butter knife.

"This one apparently has effects on par with the magic sword you lent me, Father."

"Don't be absurd."

"When you channel mana through it, it does this."

When Flaretart channeled mana into it, a blade of flame burst forth from the butter knife's tip with a vwoom.

"… Huh?"

"Its cutting power is exceptional, too. The wife said that striking it against a magic sword would break the magic sword, so I shouldn't do that."

The moment she stopped the mana flow, the butter knife returned to normal.

… It really did look like nothing more than a perfectly ordinary butter knife you'd find anywhere.

And that was precisely why, even if it were carried into a banquet, no one would ever notice it. What a dangerous magic tool, beyond all reason.

"… W-wait. You said the other three were magic tools as well?"

"Yes. This is a poison-nullifying pendant, this is a ring of attack magic, and this is a teapot that produces water tasting of tea."

"… Aren't these national treasure class?"

"R-right? Exactly."

The usefulness of poison nullification went without saying, and the ring of attack magic was no half-baked thing either.

The teapot was the only one that seemed harmless, but…

"… Apparently it'll make even the muddiest water taste like tea?"

"That is…"

That meant even poisoned water would take on the 'taste of tea.'

Ah, and combined with the poison-nullifying pendant… you could poison someone one-sidedly. He'd realized it.

"Flaretart… These 'friends' you invited over — is there someone they'd like to have you assassinate?"

"I-I don't think there's anything of the sort."

"But isn't this a message? 'Give the throne to Lord Deasalt'?"

"No, no, they truly were improvised! They just happened to have the materials on hand, so they made them! In five minutes!"

In five minutes.

To make something like this in five minutes… Flaretart's father rubbed his ears. It was a gesture elves often made when stressed.

"By the way, there were five wives, weren't there? The count's off by one…"

"Ah, the last one was making ink. Here it is."

"Hmm… Ink, then. Since it was used to make a magic tool, I'd imagine it contains a magic stone, but—ngh!?"

The moment he took the ink in his hand, he felt an astonishing pressure, a heavy gwan, and reflexively let go.

"W-what's wrong, Father?"

"N-no, I see. Flaretart. You still can't sense mana, can you. I can perceive the mana pressure of objects I grip in my hand."

"I see… So this ink, then, is some outrageous thing?"

"… Yes."

Once it dried and set, the mana pressure was no longer felt, but it was no exaggeration to call magic-tool ink liquefied magic stone.

And this ink, this mana pressure, was no ordinary magic stone.

Yes, it was truly Cyclops — no, Wyvern — no, beyond even that.

Dragon class… This was not material you were allowed to use for making ink. That was the caliber of magic stone in here.

"As I thought, this must be a message: 'Take the throne, Lord Deasalt.'"

"No. That can't be it. As for the ink, she apparently just used a fragment of a magic stone she happened to have in her pocket."

"… Does one just happen to have a dragon-class magic stone in their pocket?"

"By the way, that ink wasn't even made in five minutes — it was three seconds, and I received it because it was left over and about to be thrown away."

"Three seconds… left over and thrown away…?"

Three seconds was outrageous enough, but…

This ink wasn't something you could just casually throw away, surely.

No, was that yet another kind of message…?

"Also, since one of them said it'd be unfair to be the only one not making a magic tool, I was given a magic potion, but…"

"Hm? It doesn't seem to be here, though…?"

"Mother took it. It's apparently a very fine beauty serum. Though apparently it's still too soon for me to use it."

"…"

"…"

"So that's why I thought she looked especially beautiful today…"

"Father. Please say things like that directly to Mother."

"I already have."

"Is that so. Then if you came home a bit more often, Mother would be pleased, I think."

"… I'll do my best."

It wasn't that Flaretart's father didn't want to come home and so stayed away.

He loved his family; he was simply busy with work.

"But these five wives… just who are they?"

"They were very cute girls, but…"

"Dwarf women look young, after all. At the very least they must be adults… That's it. As thanks for these splendid magic tools, how about inviting them to dinner? I'd very much like to meet them."

"Understood. I'll reach out to them."

"Mm. I'm counting on you, Flaretart. I intend to have an acquaintance appraise these magic tools. May I hold on to them?"

"Yes, that's fine. Honestly, the butter knife is far too dangerous, so please manage it yourself, Father."

"… That's true. Once the appraisal is done, you may keep the ring and the brooch. As for the teapot… shall we present it to the royal family?"

"That would be best."

Since holding on to it carelessly could invite suspicion of treason, Flaretart agreed.

If anything, it was a touchstone for whether 'the inclination' was there. Handle it wrong, and it was the sort of thing that could topple a house.

That was her judgment.

And later, when Flaretart's father had an elven magic tool artisan appraise them, he was told, "This isn't a magic tool any human could make — surely not even those Five Elders could manage it!?" But, well, that's neither here nor there.