The six cured whole cattle were wheeled to the bonfire. Roland feared the crowd might have devoured them all if the militia hadn't escorted the cart through the crowd.
This was the entire stockpile in his castle's basement. The thought of having no meat chops left before the next merchant ship arrived made Roland's heart ache. To make this celebration a success, he'd essentially sold out his entire fortune.
The imperial chef from the capital only handled seasoning and temperature control, while the grilling was left to six burly militiamen. An iron rod was inserted through the bull's mouth and placed on a brick platform by the fire. Flames blazed fiercely, and the scorching heat could be felt from two to three meters away. Soon, the bull's skin began to sizzle, with fat seeping out through its pores and emitting an enticing aroma.
Of course, we couldn't keep everyone waiting while grilling. At Roland's signal, Iron Axe led a squad of militiamen onto the scene.
Such elaborate and intricate court dances are ill-suited for this occasion. Without prolonged training, one might not even grasp the essential movements, let alone execute graceful poses. To ensure simplicity and clarity while fully expressing oneself, the dance of the common folk clearly better aligns with the tastes of the general public.
The iron axe and team members stood with hands on hips, one hand looping around the right arm of their partner to form two concentric circles around the fire. As the accompaniment—several horns of varying pitches—began to sound, they started moving clockwise, each step accompanied by a forward kick and a shout of "Ha-hey!" "Is this what you call a lead dance?" Carter stared wide-eyed. "It's a dance, of course! Simple and easy to remember. Last night, the militia mastered the steps in just fifteen minutes," Roland chuckled. "Would you like to try?" Carter shook his head. A sudden shattering sensation hit him—goodbye, that captivating beauty; goodbye, those slightly melancholic memories of youth.
The other militia members clapped in unison, their movements mirroring the dancers 'steps. Each footwork cycle sparked a round of applause. The rhythmic pulse energized the crowd, who eagerly mimicked the dance. As the applause grew faster, the iron axe and team members spun with increasing speed, until the human ring began to lose coordination. Soon, one member stumbled, sending the entire group tumbling down in a sudden halt. The crowd froze in shock, yet the militia's applause didn't subside—it intensified into a thunderous storm.
The iron axe-laden soldier helped the fallen team member up, shouting into the crowd: "See what I mean? Anyone want to try? A fall means the round's over! Those who join the dance get a sweet, juicy honey-roasted meat treat—stay longer, get bigger portions!" Noble and the wealthy might not have invited the townsfolk to participate—subconsciously, they'd always looked down on commoners, and it was common for them to back out of promises. But when the militia members, their familiar neighbors, waved and encouraged them, they suddenly couldn't resist.
With the first dancer, the second and third soon followed. A new round of dancing commenced, this time with the majority of performers being the audience. Despite the simplicity of the movements, everyone enjoyed themselves immensely, and with honey-roasted meat as a reward, all participants delivered their best performances.
This is exactly what Roland wants to see.
Alongside the barbecue, bread, fish cakes, and ale will be served after the beef is distributed. The celebration will continue into the evening, though Roland won't stay. He assigned Carter to oversee security, while the Assistant Minister delivered the closing speech before departing.
He also has a private victory banquet to attend, right in the castle's backyard garden.
When evening falls, the back yard is still brightly lit.
Just as in the square's center, a bonfire was lit here. The difference was that the chicken for grilling was cut into chunks. The seasonings and oil were homemade, perfectly mimicking the outdoor barbecue style. This innovative buffet-style dining captivated the witches, and to Roland, it was equally a marvel—like Anna coating the chicken pieces with seasoning and wrapping them in embers, instantly turning them into fragrant meat. Nightingale, meanwhile, showcased her incredible knife skills, her blade darting and circling the chicken, peeling it back until the bones fell off intact.
Of course, there was wine too. The bottled wines brought from Liuye Town were clearly more palatable for women than ale. Lightning downed half a bottle in one go. Roland tried to say underage drinking was prohibited, but she floated the bottle mid-air, making it impossible to dissuade her. After a moment's thought, he gave up.
Halfway through the barbecue, Roland felt a faint buzz of euphoria. Leaning back in his chair, he gazed at the cheerful girls before him and was instantly filled with contentment. This was the Prince's life, he thought—this was how witches should live too. With their extraordinary abilities and striking beauty, they shouldn' t be hunted. In his pre-transmigration era, they would have been dazzling focal points wherever they went. All he could do now was to give them a normal life in this small space.
Just then, a bolt of lightning struck down and landed squarely on Roland's leg. Before he could react, it suddenly pressed against his cheek and kissed him.
Despite the swift execution, the Witch still managed to catch the move.
She flew away with a grin, noticing Anna, Nightingale, and Wendy staring at her in surprise. Waving her hand, she explained, "In the fiefdom's tradition, women may kiss the leader during victory feasts. Dad always lets me do it. Isn't that Graycastle's custom?" "Of course not," Roland's drunkenness subsided instantly. "Uh... well, Lightning, you're drunk. Go back to sleep!" "How could I?" Lightning protested. "I've never lost a drinking contest with anyone during my voyages." Roland turned to the Witch for help. Wendy nodded, her curling breath sweeping Lightning down. As she neared the ground, Wendy stepped forward, embracing the girl despite her frantic cries, and marched straight toward the castle.
"Leave that guy alone—he's just drunk. Keep eating, there's dessert later." Roland suddenly felt the atmosphere grow awkward, especially when Anna's intense gaze made him feel a chill run down his spine. The only one completely unaffected was Nana Wa, who remained absorbed in roasting the chicken wings in her hands, as if nothing had happened.
As the campfire slowly died out, Roland asked the Nightingale to escort Nana Wa home, then went to the well to wash his face with cold water before heading back to his room for bed. He didn't take this minor incident to heart, considering Lightning still just a child.
But when Prince reached the bedroom door on the third floor, his heart skipped a beat.
He saw Anna leaning against the door.