Translator: CinderTL
Evening in Alden Town always arrived quietly and gently. The setting sun cast its lingering rays across the lake, creating a shimmering tapestry of gold and crimson on the water's surface.
The city's core district, the island in the lake, wasn't large, but the presence of the Lord's Manor lent it an air of solemn order.
At this moment, the manor was ablaze with light. Servants hurried through the corridors, meticulously arranging silver cutlery and crystal wine glasses. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted venison and herb-infused stew.
This was a banquet prepared for the returning hero—not just for Helsen, but also for the dwarf envoy who had accompanied him down the mountain.
In the center of the grand hall, a long table was draped with deep crimson velvet. Silver candlesticks reflected the flickering candlelight onto the crystal chandelier, casting a soft, warm glow.
The table was laden with a lavish spread: an entire roasted leg of lamb, pheasant seasoned with rosemary and honey, a mountain of fresh mushrooms and cheeses, and earthenware pots brimming with fruit preserves and honey wine.
Servants moved back and forth carrying steaming bowls of soup, as if the entire kitchen had been transported to the hall.
Paul stood before the mansion's gate, dressed in a dark formal suit, his expression gentle. Behind him stood several important officials: Old Ford, his hair white but his spirit vigorous; Hansel, a faint smile always playing on his lips; and two officials from the Intelligence Department—the sharp and capable Cecil, and Derson Plant standing beside him.
Derson was thin and pale, with sunken eyes that held a subtle, almost imperceptible fanaticism.
He had once been a member of the Arcane Order, accompanying his mentor, Odanel, to the Northwest Bay with the intention of using Mind Magic to uncover Paul's secrets. But that failed ritual not only shattered Odanel's mind but also irrevocably altered Derson's destiny. During the psychic backlash, he glimpsed fragments of knowledge from another world within Paul's mind. Overwhelmed by this revelation, he had since revered Paul as a divine being.
Now an analyst in the Intelligence Department, Derson rarely participated in field operations. However, his sharp insights and near-obsessive loyalty to Paul had earned him considerable respect.
"They're here," Paul murmured as a servant's announcement echoed through the courtyard. Everyone turned their gaze toward the approaching carriage.
The carriage stopped, and Helsen stepped out first, followed by the dwarf envoy named Dain, who had returned to Alden Town with him yesterday.
Dain wore dark gray leather armor, his beard neatly trimmed. His eyes held the steady vigilance of one who had spent his life in the deep mountains.
Paul stepped forward with a slight smile. "Welcome to our feast."
Helsen nodded in acknowledgment, while Dain bowed deeply, his voice low but clear. "Thank you, Lord, for your hospitality." His Aldorian was still somewhat stiff.
"Tonight, we raise a toast to those who have returned," Paul said, gesturing. "Please, enter. The banquet awaits."
Inside the banquet hall, candlelight flickered, filling the air with a rich aroma.
Paul took his seat at the head table and signaled for the servants to serve the wine. He turned to Dain with a smile.
"I hear dwarves are fond of strong drink, so we've prepared a special new brew just for you. Unlike our usual sweet wines or fruit wines, this is a potent spirit called Dragon's Breath."
"Oh, I'll have to try that!" Dain's eyebrows arched, his beard twitching with interest.
As servants entered the hall carrying silver trays, the air seemed to vibrate. Six servants slowly approached, each bearing a heavy ceramic jar and matching silver cup. The jars still carried the warmth of the distillery.
"This is a newly produced distilled spirit from our distillery," Paul said. "It's made by fermenting malt and distilling it multiple times. It's as fiery as flames and cuts like a blade on the tongue."
The servants expertly poured the spirit for each guest. In Dain's silver cup, the liquid was crystal clear, almost colorless, yet it shimmered with a faint blue halo under the candlelight.
The moment the jar was opened, a rich, pure aroma of alcohol instantly filled the air. It was like the scent of burning wheat fields, or the intense heat of a mountain fire just beginning to blaze.
Dain took a deep breath, and his entire body jolted.
His eyes widened, and he couldn't help but mutter a Dwarvish oath under his breath: "By the Hammer... could this contain the power of a mountain fire!"
He looked up, his eyes sparkling with surprise and excitement. "This spirit... it's not ordinary. It has power."
Paul chuckled and raised his own cup. "Then let's drink to power."
Everyone raised their glasses, and Dain solemnly lifted his silver cup, downing the spirit in one gulp.
The moment the liquid hit his throat, his entire body stiffened. It felt as if a volcano had erupted within him, the flames burning from his throat to his chest.
After a moment, his beard trembled, and a look of almost divine satisfaction spread across his face.
"Fine wine!" he declared, setting his cup down heavily on the table, his voice low but filled with reverence. "This wine is worthy of gracing the tables of Forgehold's feasts."
Paul and Helsen exchanged glances, both seeing amusement in the other's eyes.
It seemed Dragon's Breath had successfully captured the heart of a dwarf.
After a cup each, the banquet hall's atmosphere gradually warmed. Dain, holding his silver cup, gently swirled the colorless liquid that burned like fire within, his brow furrowed. Finally, he couldn't resist speaking.
"Lord Marquis," he asked, a hint of inquiry in his voice, "you mentioned this wine was distilled. That word... I've never heard it before. What does it mean?"
Paul smiled faintly, setting down his own cup with a relaxed interest in his eyes.
"Of course I can explain," he nodded. "Distillation is a process where fermented wine is heated until it turns into steam, which is then cooled back into liquid. This process purifies the alcohol from the wine, resulting in a final product that's far more potent than ordinary fermented wine."
Dain listened intently, his whiskers twitching slightly. "So... you turn the wine into steam and then let it fall back down like rain?"
"More or less," Paul nodded. "But this rain is pure fire."
Dain pondered for a moment, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Then... what kind of container do you use to heat it? How do you control the temperature? And—how do you know when to stop the distillation?"
He fired off several questions in rapid succession, his voice brimming with genuine curiosity.
Paul's smile remained gentle, but a hint of caution flickered in his eyes.
He gently set down his glass, his tone still friendly but with an unmistakable sense of boundaries.
"Those questions delve into the secrets of our Alden Town distillery's craft. I'm happy to share the wine with you, but not all its secrets."
He paused, then added, "Dwarves have always valued their forging techniques. I'm sure you can understand."
Dain blinked, then chuckled softly and nodded.
"Of course, I understand," he said, raising his glass with a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Anyone capable of brewing such a wine must have their reasons."
He tilted his head back and drained the glass. The fiery liquid rekindled his passion.
(End of the Chapter)
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