✌️✌️NOTICE!!✌️✌️
I've been inactive for a long time. Now I'm back on the track, have been writing a fanfic for a month.
I'll be updating this series on regular basis from now. 5 chapters/week I think.
Happy reading!!
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Read from here
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By the time the sun dipped low and lanterns began to glow along the festival streets, the Elrics and their guards began to trickle back into the inn.
Gareth and Thorne were the first to arrive, still damp from the riverside and proudly hauling a wrapped bundle that smelled faintly of river water. Thorne was strutting like a rooster, while Gareth trailed behind with the look of a man who had seen things he'd never live down.
Not long after, Luca's group tumbled in. Luca came bouncing through the door, cotton candy still clinging to his lips. He burst into excited retellings before anyone could ask.
"And then—and then this man, he swallowed a torch and spit fire like a dragon! And then Brell—hahaha—he got teased 'cause he's a vir—"
Julian quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, shooting Kael a sharp look. Kael just coughed loudly and muttered, "Don't corrupt the boy." Brell turned scarlet anyway, avoiding everyone's eyes.
Finally, Lilith's group strolled in last. Thorne raised an eyebrow.
"Took your time. What, were you sightseeing the mayor's beard hairs one by one?"
Ren crossed his arms and smirked. "No. Lilith was robbing every shopkeeper blind. Anyone unlucky enough to see her walked away a beggar."
"Formidable doesn't begin to cover it," Saria added with a laugh. Moreau gave a slow nod. "I'd call it tactical extortion. Effective, though."
Lilith only grinned, clearly pleased with herself.
Before they could trade more stories, the innkeeper appeared at the dining room entrance, grinning so wide his moustache nearly curled into his ears. "Honoured guests! Dinner is ready!"
He practically skipped as he ushered them into the hall. The long table was already set, and when the main dish arrived, every jaw dropped.
A platter the size of a wagon wheel was carried in by two servers. On it lay the massive silver carp from earlier, roasted to perfection, scales shimmering gold under a glaze of herbs and spices.
"That's—" Julian blinked. "That's the grand prize fish!"
"Correct!" the innkeeper beamed. "Sir Thorne here generously requested I prepare it for tonight's feast! Such a magnificent catch deserved a magnificent table!"
All eyes turned to Thorne, who puffed out his chest. "Well, what can I say? A hero shares his spoils."
Before anyone could praise him too much, Gareth muttered under his breath. "He didn't mention the frog."
That earned him a sharp jab from Thorne. "Shut it!" But it was too late—Luca's ears perked up. "A frog? You caught a frog, Father?!"
The table roared with laughter as Gareth buried his face in his hands.
Dinner became a storm of jokes, stories, and teasing, the grand fish carved into thick, steaming cuts for everyone to share. The knights ate heartily, Luca kept asking for seconds, and even stoic Kael admitted it was the best fish he'd had in years.
For one evening, surrounded by laughter and food, the looming duties and tributes were forgotten.
Festival Day Two: The Ancestors' Endurance Trial
The second morning came late, as expected. Everyone in the inn had eaten and laughed far too much the night before, so they slept heavy and woke sluggish. By the time the bells of noon echoed through the town, the Sunpetal Festival was already thrumming with energy.
News spread quickly: today was the Endurance Trial of the Ancestors, a local tradition meant to "honor the hardships of old generations."
At the riverside ground, a temporary arena was built—roped fences, makeshift bridges, and a muddy track carved out by eager workers. Rows of townsfolk gathered, cheering loudly, betting snacks and coins on their favorite contestants.
The rules were simple:
Each contestant carried two narrow pots filled with milk, one in each hand.
They had to reach the finish line with at least half the milk still inside.
There were three rounds, each more brutal than the last.
Any spilled pot meant disqualification.
Lilith smirked the moment she heard. "Kael, Brell, you're going."
Brell nearly choked on his breakfast. "M–me?!"
"Yes, you," Lilith pressed. "Time to prove you're not just a virgin knight with nice hair."
Kael snorted, trying to sound composed. "Hmph. This will be easy. I have balance and discipline. Unlike him."
Brell groaned but had no way out—Lilith's glare was more terrifying than the midday sand.
Round One: The Bamboo Bridges
Ten contestants lined up, including Brell, Kael, and a handful of locals. Among them was a wiry farmer with calloused feet, a muscled fisherman, and even a cocky traveling mercenary.
"Ready… steady… GO!"
Everyone surged forward with their pots. The bamboo bridges swayed wildly under their weight. Each bridge was no wider than a plank, bouncing with every step.
The mercenary sprinted like a fool, his foot slipped, and SPLASH!—milk everywhere. The crowd laughed and jeered. Eliminated.
Kael moved with slow, measured steps, his tower-shield discipline showing through. The bridge creaked, but he never faltered, eyes fixed ahead.
Brell, however, looked like he was walking a tightrope in a storm. His pots wobbled dangerously, his face red with concentration. When he finally stumbled off the bridge, milk sloshed but somehow didn't spill over the rim. The crowd gasped, then cheered.
"Beginner's luck," Kael muttered under his breath.
Round Two: Slippery Mud Path
The remaining six advanced to the mud stretch. It had been watered down until it was slick as soap, with hidden dips to trip the careless.
The fisherman was in his element, moving barefoot with surprising grace, pots steady as stones. Two more contestants slipped spectacularly, one face-first into the muck, milk gone.
Kael clenched his jaw, taking careful, wide-legged steps. His balance was impeccable, and he made it across with barely a splash.
Brell, on the other hand—his foot shot out from under him halfway through. The crowd oooh'd. But he twisted mid-fall, landing on his knees instead of flat, clutching the pots desperately to his chest. A little spilled, but not enough to disqualify. He scrambled upright, coated in mud, but somehow—somehow—still in the game.
From the stands, Lilith cupped her hands and shouted, "That's it, Brell! Protect that milk like you protect your virginity!"
Brell nearly dropped a pot out of embarrassment.
Final Round: The Midday Sand
Only four remained: Kael, Brell, the fisherman, and the wiry farmer. The crowd grew quiet as the announcer raised his voice.
"And now—the Midday Sand! Blessed, or cursed, by the river deity himself!"
The stretch ahead shimmered in the sunlight. The white-gold sand looked harmless, but heat rippled from its surface. When the first contestant stepped, he flinched—the sensation was strange, not painful, but draining, like walking barefoot on sunfire.
Each step sapped strength.
The farmer lasted only a dozen paces before he stumbled, collapsing, milk spilling everywhere. Eliminated.
The fisherman grit his teeth, moving with steady determination. His pots barely shook.
Kael, sweating but stoic, marched onward like a soldier under fire. He was clearly suffering, yet his balance never wavered.
Brell lagged behind, trembling. His breath came in sharp gasps. The heat made his head spin, his feet felt heavy as stone. Each step was a battle.
"Don't give up!" Lilith's voice carried across the field. "Imagine that milk is your last chance to ever—"
"LADY LILITH!!" Brell shouted back, his face redder than the sand shimmer.
The distraction nearly cost him, but at that exact moment, the fisherman staggered, dropping to his knees—the heat drained him too fast. His pots tilted, milk pouring out.
The crowd roared.
It was now Kael vs. Brell.
Kael pushed forward, veins bulging in his neck, his steps like hammer strikes. Brell dragged himself like a man crawling out of a grave, his pots clutched with sheer desperation.
And then—at the very last stretch—Kael stumbled. Just a tiny misstep, one foot sinking deeper than expected. A splash of milk spilled down his hand. Gasps erupted.
Brell lurched past him, wobbling like a drunk, but his pots stayed intact.
When he staggered over the finish line, nearly collapsing, the crowd went wild.
Winner: Sir Brell Varn.
The shy, mud-coated, half-dead knight stood blinking in disbelief as the announcer raised his arm. "The virgin knight WINS THE ENDURANCE TRIAL!"
The cheers nearly broke the festival grounds.
Kael, panting and bitter, muttered, "Beginner's luck… again."
Lilith was laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her seat. "Brell, you glorious idiot! You actually pulled it off!"
Brell just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
When the announcer lifted Brell's arm, a pair of attendants came forward with a velvet-lined chest. The crowd leaned in with curiosity.
"By tradition of the Ancestors' Trial," the announcer boomed, "the victor receives not only honor, but also the Blessing Relic of Sunpetal!"
Brell blinked, still dazed. "W–wait, what?"
Inside the chest lay a beautifully carved anklet of woven silver and sunpetal threads, faintly glowing under the light. It wasn't gaudy—simple yet radiant, with a charm shaped like a river lily.
The announcer explained:
"This relic was forged to endure hardships. It grants the wearer a touch of resilience—the longer you remain in battle or hardship, the stronger your endurance grows."
Lilith whistled. "Oh-ho, so the virgin knight gets himself a magic anklet. Don't trip it off while running to bed."
The crowd laughed, Kael gritted his teeth, and Brell—redder than a cooked lobster—awkwardly strapped it on.
☀️ Day Three – Festival Finale
The sun rose lazily on the last day. The inn rooms were a mess, half the knights groaning from ale, Luca still chewing in his sleep, and Julian hammering on a scrap of metal like he couldn't survive without work.
Then the door slammed open.
Lilith stood there, hands on hips, her fiery hair wild, her eyes blazing.
"Get your asses up, boys! We're earning money from this festival today. Last chance!"
Groans echoed. Kael covered his head with a pillow. "Gods help me, what now…"
Ren rubbed his temple. "Haven't you robbed enough people already?"
Lilith's smile widened dangerously.
"No. Not yet. …I mean, this time we're actually earning it."
Continued...
Non-canon filler: The previous owner of the body has now become a yokai and came to haunt me and she has something to say to you all.
❝I grace you with my work, and you can't even click a tiny little «Powerstone»? Honestly… how pathetic.❞
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