NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 13
By midday, the festival grounds were in full swing.
The morning’s opening remarks by the local deputy were brief, lasting only a few minutes as usual.
Eckehardt, the knight of the Threefold Empire of Thuringia, appeared accompanied by a few riders, clad in a magnificent cuirass. From atop his horse, he delivered a few words praying for this year’s bountiful harvest and the peace of the coming winter before departing just as quickly. No doubt he had similar ceremonies to attend at other estates within his jurisdiction.
Incidentally, the sermon which replaced the usual Mass was also concise. After all, the festival itself was a sacred hymn and prayer to the God of Fertility. There was no need for excessive embellishment. It was definitely not because the well-known wine-loving priest wanted to hurry off to drink, shouting something like “rest omitted!” Well… at least I’d like to think that was the case. Most likely, that’s how it went… Let’s leave it at that.
And so, in just a few short hours following the festival’s start, the villagers were already quite merry.
“Unh… are you drinking?”
“Yeah, I’m drinkin’… drinkin’…”
Margit, who was as usual hanging off someone’s neck like a necklace, was also in a fine state of inebriation.
The sight of the young maiden, her face flushed red and slurring her words, was truly a sight to behold—though in this world, it was perfectly legal. While the Threefold Empire does have a culture of drinking boiled or filtered water—using makeshift filters made of gravel, charcoal, and cloth—the cost for such purification is typically high. As a result, alcohol, with its disinfectant properties, is often the everyday drink of choice.
Especially in the southern regions of the Empire, where the climate is relatively mild and suitable for grape cultivation. Though it is colder here compared to the southern coastal states, the conditions are sufficient for the growth of grapes, making wine readily available. This time of year, the roads are likely filled with carts loaded with grapes headed to the church’s wineries.
To add to the celebrations, numerous barrels of wine have been brought out from the manor’s cellar. It’s no surprise that with such strong alcohol being consumed in bulk and the revelry gaining momentum, the crowd is already quite animated. The sour scent drifting from a grove of trees away from the square leaves little to the imagination as far as the reason goes.
And yet it’s not even well past noon, and already they’re in this state. Is everything going to be fine for the ceremony later this afternoon?
Still, they’ve managed to conduct countless weddings here without any serious issues before, so I assume it’ll work out this time as well. At worst, the newlyweds, carried away by the festive spirit, might start things off early…
Ah, it would certainly be a disaster, but with everyone as drunk as they are, most people won’t even recall it the next day, so the damage would be relatively minimal.
“Hey, don’t ignore meeee…
Looking down, I found Margit hanging off me, with her cheeks puffed up in dissatisfaction.
“But I told you not to drink so much…”
“Only a liiiittle,” she protested, “just a tiny bit…”
It’s true, according to her definition, two or three cups could be considered “just a little.” However, it’s a fact that it doesn’t apply to spider-kind. In exchange for their more robust digestive systems compared to humans, their alcohol-metabolizing ability is quite low.
So why did she drink so freely?
“Shouldn’t you stop roaming among the food stalls? You won’t be able to if you continue like this,” I teased her.
“I’ll be fine… Erich will bring me around, won’t you?”
With the playful demeanor of a cat, Margit rubbed her cheek against my chest. Despite her flushed cheeks, tinged with a rosy hue, her usual makeup hadn’t smeared onto my clothes. …It seems she’s not wearing any today—how intimidating the spider-folk can be when they go natural.
Still, unfortunately, I can’t accompany her. I have preparations to make before the ceremony.
“I can’t, there’s Heinze’s ceremony soon. I need to change,” I explained.
“Eeeh?”
Forgetting for the moment why she’s been clinging to me like a younger sister, her mind having dissolved away in the alcohol already…
“Alright, alright, let go now. I need to go get changed,” I prompted.
“Noowaaay!”
It doesn’t work like that; remember, you’re already fourteen, and once next summer arrives, you’ll be considered an adult. To look at her, she appears only slightly older than Eliza, but I don’t forget that she’s two years older than me.
Even if she throws her adorable tantrums… tugs… and… pleads…
“Yes yes, let go,” I repeated firmly.
“Erich you’re so meane!” she pouted, with exaggerated emphasis.
Summoning my strongest resolve to resist the temptation of playing along, I hoisted her up by her sides and pulled her head free from between my arms. Though she’s grown taller, she remains light enough that lowering her down wasn’t too difficult. Nonetheless, her teary-eyed, upturned face accusingly made me feel as if I’d done something wrong—and it left me rather flustered.
To make matters worse, we were on the town square, surrounded by onlookers. Among them were the villagers, some familiar faces from my childhood.
“Hey, isn’t that Erich with a chick!”
“While you’re at it, why don’t you take her for a little stroll!”
“Jealous! That advocate of youth worship!”
Drunkards always find something to jeer about, and reasoning with them in their state is pointless.
“Go die, you drunks!”
Even waving my arm in response yielded only hoots and whistles. Of course, the “stroll” they’re talking about would end up with the two of us disappearing into the woods somewhere blindfolded. I’d already seen a couple make their way out, apparently eager to start their own celebrations early.
On a side note, “youth worship” is merely a euphemism for being a Lolicon. The term originates from an old tale where a certain priest was criticized for showing fondness towards magical or non-human beings that appeared young by human standards. He tried to justify it by claiming his appreciation was purely for the pure vitality and youth—yet the truth came out later…
Oh? The priest in question? He was fond of older sub-human races as well, getting beaten up from all directions and subsequently excommunicated. That even the royal family couldn’t prevent his expulsion only proves how radical the priesthood of this land is.
As for my childhood friend who could bring about a “social judgment” attack with her tears alone, setting aside the unnecessary label, I turned to head home as quickly as possible. Although I’ve grown up alongside her for so long that our connection might not seem accidental to me, I won’t deny the existence of someone who thinks this way.
“Hey, Erich, you’re late,” greeted my brother when I entered our home’s sitting room.
Already in his formal attire, his face bore a stern resemblance to our father, though the white doublet didn’t quite suit him. Still, slicked back with pomade, his auburn hair lent him a certain dignity.
There’s no mistaking it; despite his sun-bronzed complexion and work-hardened hands, he was an impressive sight, a man in his prime moment for an important event.
“Do I look good?” he asked, adjusting his nose, a gesture oddly reminiscent of a younger brother who once gifted me a wooden sword.
Indeed, and I nodded affirmatively, appreciating his growth despite his usual rough edges. We once practiced courtly language side by side to correct our dialects under our father’s watchful guidance—a part of history we all wish to erase as quickly as possible.
Still, reflecting back, it’s amazing how far we’ve come since days spent chasing fairy tales of adventure into the forests for a supposed coin of the faeries.
The household will be stable with him now.
We exchanged some lighthearted banter about the timing of our youth versus modern expectations, but shortly I realized that two of my other brothers were absent.
“Ah,” my brother admitted, “they got completely hammered, so they’re currently over by the well with dad. Eliza is at Mina’s place getting changed, as it wouldn’t be good for her education to see too much of this spectacle.”
Those two fools… Skipping was one thing, but passing out drunk was another. Somewhere in the backyard, our father was probably dousing them with the cold well water—yes, that practical water pump innovation—fuming.
Considering it’s late autumn, so long as they don’t catch a cold, the situation seems manageable, although the two loud sneezes coming from behind the house suggested hope was fading…
The wedding ceremony, contrary to being a grand and solemn event, ended up being a rambunctious affair.
Rural weddings at estate level lack the grandeur typical of higher society and instead are boisterous affairs. Drunken guests yell and jeer, and the bridegroom often responds with equally vulgar remarks, earning himself a beating from the bride, her relatives, and occasionally even the priest.
Amidst the catcalls, the bride walks down an aisle of flying flower petals, exchanging vows before a priest of the God of Fertility.
And after? It turns into an all-out party. Everyone—bride and groom alike—dances until they’re utterly exhausted. They switch partners seamlessly, eating and drinking as they tire. By evening, the whole lot escorts the newlyweds on a grand procession through the village before tossing them into their bedchamber along with a few more raucous jeers.
Once everyone disperses, the celebrations continue, shifting into what’s technically the third round of drinks for the evening.
While it might seem crude and even barbaric to some, I personally find such ceremonies more enjoyable than the overly formal ones laden with speeches and entertainments. That said, if I were accused of being biased because I remembered the previous life’s weddings—where I attended until I was past thirty, without once participating as the groom—the only sound I might make would be a resigned sigh.
Nevertheless, this wedding was a good one.
My brother, pulling the bride’s arm, looked proud, and Mina—whose frail beauty suggested a different kind of criminal allure compared to Margit—was happily blushing.
While many marriages are arranged for financial or familial purposes, it doesn’t mean the participants can’t find happiness in them.
“Brother?”
“Hmm?”
As I rested casually at a corner of the square, Eliza, seated on my lap, tugged at my shirt, interrupting my thoughts.
“Will you not dance, brother?”
“Ah, it’s not my thing,” I replied, half truthful and half lying.
While I have the swordplay skills necessary to manage the precise footwork involved, my real issue is the lack of a partner. Margit was lively earlier, but she succumbed just now to a potent batch of honey wine infused with herbs.
Of course, it’s possible to join the dance with a revolving set of partners, as Mikhail and Hans were doing despite their dousing earlier. Yet, for some reason, the adolescent girls my age seemed to avoid me this time around.
It must have been due to Margit’s antics, probably involving some mischief that ensured she’d end the night soaked in water but still dancing.
Regardless, as the fourth son, I can’t expect anyone to consider me for marriage, so there’s no worry there.
“Would you like to dance with Eliza?”
“Eliza is special.”
“Yes,” she giggled, leaning her head on my chest and wiggling her feet in excitement.
That’s why earlier, I had danced briefly with her in a secluded corner. Calling it dancing might be generous—it was more like holding her and gently spinning her around—but she seemed to enjoy it, so it was fine.
However, she is my real sister… Knowing that in a few years, she’ll start telling me to bug off, I can already feel my heart tightening just thinking about it. Chances are she’ll grow to that point, and should that day come, I won’t hesitate to cry. The mere thought makes my chest feel heavy.
“Hey, Eliza, would you like to go look at the stalls?”
“Stalls?”
“Yes. There’s unusual food, and even poets around!”
Suggesting this to distract myself from the growing sorrow, I noticed her eagerness, excited at the prospect of exploring something new outside her usual routine.
Thanks to the small allowance from father for the festival, we could afford a couple of purchases.
Holding my cheerful sister in my arms, we headed toward where the traveling merchants had set up shop.