[V9C21] A Stormy Ceremony

Cyril Ashley, the heir of Marquis Highown, got off the carriage in front of the mansion belonging to Elliott, the lord of Rainfield, frowning as he noticed the strength of the wind.

He worried that the weasels on his shoulders——Thule and Pikeh——might get sent flying. The panicked Cyril quickly stuffed the two into his bag.

“Looks like a storm is coming. It’s dangerous, so stay inside my bag.”

“A storm is coming? How exciting.”

“We should go enjoy it.”

The strange response from Thule and Pikeh left Cyril dumbfounded. Dragons and spirits seemed to have a much different perception of storms than humans.

“But you’ll get blown away in the wind,” Cyril pointed out.

“Really?”

“Then we can just do this.”

Dodging Cyril’s attempt to stop them, Thule and Pikeh leapt out of the bag and promptly transformed into their human forms.

Thule had become a gentle-looking young man with silvery hair, and Pikeh had become a woman with neatly trimmed light blonde hair.

While it was true that they didn’t need to worry about getting blown away anymore, the ethnic outfits they wore looked incredibly out of place. There was clearly no way Cyril could take them along as his attendants.

Cyril was visiting Rainfield to celebrate today’s festival as the proxy of Marquis Highown, so he needed to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

After much consideration, he came up with an alternative.

“I will continue into the mansion. You two arrange for our accommodations.”

Since Cyril had established a contract with Thule and Pikeh, he could sense their whereabouts to a degree. They had no means of speaking to each other at a distance, but he could send basic instructions such as “come here”.

“So we just need to find an inn?” Thule asked.

“Got it. We’ll find one,” Pikeh followed.

The two nodded and immediately ran off into town despite the strong winds. Though they had the appearance of adults, they behaved more like children excited to play around in a storm.

There was already a light shower, so it was only a matter of time before it turned into a heavy downpour.

Cyril held down his wind-tousled hair and knocked on the door of the mansion. There, he learned that Elliott was currently at the temple in the forest outside town, as the starting ceremony would be held there at noon.

Cyril considered visiting the temple to watch the ceremony in person, but in this weather, it would be better to wait at the mansion.

He entered the mansion and was guided to a slightly spacious hall by a man, apparently the deputy lord. Several sofas had been arranged for the guests, along with light snacks and drinks.

Apparently, the guests were to chat with each other until Elliott’s return from the temple.

(…There’s fewer people than I expected.)

Cyril had heard from his foster father that the festival ten years ago was a grand event, with so many guests that the mansion could barely fit them all.

However, this year seemed to have much fewer visitors, likely due to the poor weather.

After conversing with the other guests, Cyril learned that many had decided to wait at their inns for the storm to pass. Thus, only a few people had come to offer their greetings on the first day of the festival.

This was not typically condoned behavior, but Elliott was young and had only recently taken on the mantle of lord. Such was likely to be the main reason he did not garner much respect.

Cyril continued conversing with the other guests, and one of them mentioned something surprising.

“By the way, they say the magical dedication this year will be performed by Silent Witch-dono of the Seven Sages. The young hero who defeated two evil dragons! I hope I get the chance to meet her later…”

(Monica?)

Cyril found himself looking out the window. The intensity of the storm was reaching its peak, sending a fierce torrent of raindrops to beat against the glass.

The sound of the roaring wind caused Cyril to grow uneasy. He could easily imagine the petite Monica getting blown away by the wind and rolling across the ground.

(Will she be okay…?)

Cyril continued staring outside the window with concern, before he heard a sound amidst the roaring of wind and rain. Though faint, he made out something resembling the gentle pouring of sand.

The other guests also noticed the sound and looked around with puzzled expressions.

“Did anyone else hear a strange sound just now?”

“Yes, I believe it came from outside the window…”

Suddenly, the sound of flowing sand stopped, replaced by a clear, resounding voice.

＊　＊　＊

Adorned in a pure white dress, Songstress Rosey Moore looked outside the window. The town was being assaulted by a storm like no other, with a torrential downpour and gales strong enough to shake the largest trees in the forest.

Given this weather, no one in town would bother to set up stalls or stage performances. All the open-air markets and other events would be postponed until the day after the storm passes.

Even so, the Hymn Dedication would proceed on schedule.

The elderly priests placed far too much importance on the calendar, and it was impossible to detain the busy Sage or popular musician for longer than necessary.

That said, the most ridiculous part was that the starting ceremony must still be done on the plaza in front of the temple. The stubborn priests insisted that any song dedicated to the Spirit King of Wind must be performed outdoors.

“…Hah.”

Rosey let out a dark chuckle.

Despite having to sing in such awful weather, she felt relieved.

Why? Because the lack of spectators and excitement could all be blamed on the storm.

(Thank goodness. I can just perform a half-hearted song, finish up the ceremony, then run back indoors and warm myself back up.)

Ten years ago, Rosey had watched her mother take the stage as Songstress with baited breath. Her fervent wish was to stand on that stage someday, then she would be the one to move people with her singing, just her mother.

When her mother passed away, and Rosey was appointed as the next Songstress, she redoubled her efforts in practice.

She truly put everything into her songs. But those desperate efforts eventually led her to realize the truth.

——No one was expecting anything from her.

On the day the new lord came to greet the priests, Rosey had intended to sing for him. Once she showed off her best song, she would put on a triumphant smile and ask, “How was that, Your Lordship?”

However, he didn’t care one bit about the festival. In fact, he seemed to consider the temple itself as a waste of funding.

After exchanging a few words with the priests, he scoffed arrogantly and left before Rosie had a chance to say anything.

Not once did he even mention the Songstress.

(That guy doesn’t care about me.)

In which case, why should she have to care? Why should she have to put effort into her singing?

The whole thing felt stupid. Putting in actual effort would only lead to greater embarrassment for herself.

Not to mention the heavy rain, which would drown out the sound and get the instruments wet. Even that genius musician was not going to bother trying in these conditions.

(So I don’t have to try either.)

It was about time for the starting ceremony to begin.

Rosey lifted the hem of her white dress and headed to the entrance hall.

She found the temple priests and the young lord, Elliott Howard, waiting in front of the door in splendid attire.

Elliott wore a glossy black jacket with a bright green cape. His cape even had several expensive-looking decorations hanging from it, so Rosey couldn’t help but smirk.

He simply looked so ridiculous. After all, they were about to perform a ceremony in heavy rain. All those decorations and the cape itself would just get blown away in the wind.

Elliott began with a dignified voice.

“I hereby announce the start of the Hymn Dedication. Songstress Rosey Moore, step forward.”

This was the part where Rosey was supposed to kneel in front of the lord, allowing him to place a crown of flowers on her head.

However, Rosey simply took a step forward and looked Elliott in the eyes without kneeling.

“We can skip the flowers. They’ll just get blown away the moment we step outside.”

“…”

“How about we wrap up the ceremony quickly, before the storm gets any worse? Is that alright, Your Lordship?”

Her complete lack of respect caused the priests to go deathly pale. Rosey secretly chuckled to herself at their panicked reactions.

Meanwhile, Elliott lifted the corner of his mouth into a smirk.

“Hoh? Try saying that again after you see this.”

“…?”

With a flutter of his cape, Elliott turned around and pushed open the doors of the temple.

Rosey braced herself for the oncoming storm, but she felt neither raindrops nor even the gentlest breeze. The sound of rain felt strangely distant, as if it was heard through closed windows.

A large green mat had been spread out in front of the temple, with a piano set up on top of it. The musician Benjamin Mordin was seated in front of the piano.

Benjamin’s fingers danced across the keys, producing a delicate melody that resonated with a subtle difference to how it would indoors.

(There’s… a barrier around the mat…?)

This made sense as a method for protecting instruments from the rain.

At the center of the mat stood a petite girl, the Silent Witch, wearing a beautifully embroidered robe and holding a golden staff. She must be the one maintaining this barrier.

Despite holding being one of the great Seven Sages, she appeared to be pretty young, probably not much older than the sixteen-year-old Rosey. Even so, her neatly tied hair and made-up face gave her a serene and solemn air, befitting the title of Silent Witch.

The Silent Witch began speaking in a clear, resounding, and composed tone.

“I shall now proceed with the magical dedication. Everyone, please direct your attention to the sky.”

Everyone looked up to see the gray storm clouds blocking out the sun. However, there were particles of white light sparkling there as well.

These particles converged into a single spot, forming a gate.

Rosey had seen the same gate ten years ago, though at that time, there had been four gates opened simultaneously.

“Open the gate.”

The gate opened slowly, unleashing a strong wind sparkling in a yellowish-green hue. This powerful gust temporarily dispersed the gray clouds.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the cloud cover, drawing bands of light in the darkened sky.

“Come forth from the edge of silence, Spirit King of Wind, Shefield!”

Along with those words, a wave of flower petals danced in front of Rosey’s eyes.

A large wooden box had been placed behind the door, and the flower petals contained within were launched into the air by the gust of wind.

Benjamin ran his fingers across the keys of the piano, creating a lively and uplifting melody, as if skipping in the warmth of the spring sun.

Another gust of sparkling wind carried additional flower petals into the air.

In the midst of this fantastical scene, the Silent Witch spoke again with her resounding voice.

“The Spirit King of Wind will now travel throughout the town. I hope that the townspeople enjoy this offering of music and flowers alongside the great Spirit King.”

Rosey stared at the Silent Witch in astonishment.

(What did she just say…?)

As Rosey simply stood there dumbfounded, Elliott explained with a malicious grin.

“You see, Silent Witch-dono has set up a neat little trick. Any music played within this barrier will reach the entire town.”

Upon hearing those words, Rosey felt her stomach tightening in dismay.

(No… Please, stop…!)

This was an extraordinary performance of magic, followed by an equally magnificent piece of music. But Rosey was not worthy to sing on the same stage as them. How could she possibly stand alongside such incredible people?

Rosey stood dumbfounded at the doorway until she felt something placed on her head. A crown of flowers.

She looked up to see the lord with an even deeper smile.

“How about it? Quite the splendid stage, right? Your audience is everyone in town.”

“…”

“You know, despite all the work we put into this, there are still plenty of people who will say they liked the last festival better.”

Elliott spoke in a sarcastic tone, then shrugged his shoulders before continuing.

“You’ll probably be compared to the Songstress from ten years ago too. And that’s why you don’t want to embarrass yourself on this stage… Am I wrong?”

“…!”

Elliott had struck the mark, causing Rosey’s cheeks to turn red with embarrassment.

Though still young, the lord of this town looked down at Rosey with the face of an adult.

“But, you see, even if you know you’re going to embarrass yourself, you have to give it your all. Because that is your duty as the Songstress and my duty as the lord.”

A beautiful blonde maid appeared from behind the row of priests, handing a black case to Elliott.

Elliott accepted the case and opened it. Inside was a violin.

“And that’s why I’ll be embarrassing myself too.”

“…Huh?”

Now holding the violin and bow, Elliott walked forward and stood next to the piano. Then, he shouted in a defiant tone.

“See this! An amateur like me is performing alongside the genius musician Benjamin Mordin! Can there be anything more embarrassing!?”

Rosey stared in disbelief as Elliott continued his taunts.

“I, the lord of this town, am sharing in your embarrassment! That means it’s time for you to go all out! No more excuses, Songstress Rosey Moore!”

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