Chapter 8

"Changing the topic a little, how did you find the feel of the new ‘paper’?"

In this continent, parchment is used as the primary medium for writing. Books, official decrees, and letters are all written on parchment. But parchment is extremely expensive.

There are alternatives like wooden tablets, rag cloth, or wax boards—but all of them have their pros and cons. People tend to use them depending on the purpose.

I consider myself both a book lover and someone who writes frequently. I never miss a day of journaling, jot down what I see and hear, record poems I think up, and I even create personal dictionaries.

So I wanted paper that was cheap, durable, disposable, and easy to use.

If it didn’t exist, then I had to make it.

After much trial and error, I ended up with something not half bad. When people taste a bit of success, their ambitions grow.

After going through all that trouble, it felt wasteful to use it only for myself.

If the Budoudarl Ducal House could switch from parchment to paper for administrative documents, we could drastically cut costs. We’d also reduce the space taken up by wooden tablets.

If it became a proper industry, it might even increase tax revenue.

So I had my father and the scribes try using the paper I’d created. Their impression was: "Fragile and hard to write on." They had other complaints, too.

Which, honestly, I had expected. Even with digitization, no matter how many benefits you list, the moment there's one drawback, people say, "That's why paper is better." In the end, they’ll even pull out some vague sentiment like "warmth" to argue against it.

If you want “warmth,” go use clay tablets.

So no, I wasn’t expecting immediate acceptance. But having it said to my face still made me snap. I hate to lose. I couldn’t back down.

That’s why I put my own allowance into improving the paper. I increased the number of craftsmen and offered rewards for ideas that could help refine it. Some people muttered that it’d be cheaper to just stick with parchment, but I shot back, "That’s my business."

That’s how I managed to create paper that feels “almost like parchment.”

“It was easier to use than before.”

He didn’t seem to be just flattering me.

I had previously used plant-based glue as an additive, but switching to animal-based gelatin must’ve done the trick.

“If it’s for use within Roselia’s court, I have no objections.”

The “Court of Roselia” refers to the administrative organization made up of knights (both military and scholarly) who serve me. Once a noble makes their social debut, they usually maintain an administrative structure referred to as a “court,” though the size varies.

Nobles aren’t just socialites—they handle domestic governance, legal affairs, and even monster extermination. So they need knights who offer advice and do the legwork.

This court moves with the noble wherever they go. The whole thing is usually only a few hundred people at most, and since a noble’s territories are spread out, it’s often quicker to travel than to gather materials or information in one place.

Of course, it’s not feasible to carry all documents, weapons, or tax materials around, so there are central hubs—headquarters, essentially—where they’re stored. In our country, those are Castle Torunia in the north and Castle Budoubel in the south.

“Of course, it’s only for documents that won’t be made public or kept for long.”

“…Understood.”

So, officially, the Budoudarl Ducal House wouldn’t adopt it. I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time, not terribly surprised.

“I probably don’t need to say this, but don’t use it for letters or contracts.”

“I understand.”

Even if paper someday outperforms parchment in quality, it still can’t match parchment’s prestige. Replacing it entirely could take a hundred—or even two hundred—years.

“How about private letters?”

“…Within the domain, and only if you note it beforehand—I’ll allow it.”

Letters to close acquaintances—knights, merchants, scholars—seem to be acceptable. Government-level usage may be difficult for now, so I’ll try spreading it from the bottom up. Merchants, who prioritize cost performance, are likely to be more receptive than my noble father.

“By the way, how much do you have in stock?”

“About five hundred sheets. …Is there a reason you ask?”

Could he be planning to use it for his own court? But if that were the case, he wouldn’t have outright rejected its official use…

“Well, you know. I write a bit myself. I don’t plan on showing it to anyone…”

Apparently, he’s going to use it for journaling. So it’s not accepted by Duke Budoudarl, but it is by Makartos el Budoudarl personally.

“Understood. I’ll have it delivered to you later.”

I felt a bit happy, as though my efforts had been rewarded. …Well, the ones who actually did the hard work were the craftsmen, but still.

It’s currently August by the calendar of this world—the transition from late summer to early autumn.

It’s the end of the harvest season for key crops like wheat and grapes.

The harvested wheat is transported to castles and granaries across the land, while the grapes are processed into wine in villages and towns.

Amid all that, I was visiting a temple in the castle town of Torunia, called the Temple of Torunia.

It’s the largest temple in the northern part of the Budoudarl Principality, and also the central hub of faith in the Torunia region.

“Truly, you are radiant, Princess. With each passing year, your divine aura only grows stronger.”

“To hear that from you, High Priest, is a great honor.”

I lightly brushed off the high priest’s flattery and checked my reflection in the mirror.

Today, I wasn’t wearing a dress—I was in ceremonial shrine maiden robes. The design was different from Japanese shrine maiden attire, of course, but the red and white color scheme was the same.

Today is the day of the harvest festival.

The ruling noble family also oversees religious rites, and since I serve as a shrine maiden at the temple, I must participate in the ceremony.

Similar festivals are held elsewhere, but the one at the Temple of Torunia is the largest in this region.

A similar celebration is also scheduled in the southern city of Budoubel, where my younger sister Blanche will officiate as the shrine maiden.

I figured the reason Father left early was to witness Blanche’s ceremony.

It’s only natural—between a twelve-year-old eldest daughter and a nine-year-old younger one, the latter would be more worrying.

Since I’m no longer at an age where I need a guardian to do everything, I simply told Father, “Please tell Blanche to do her best,” and sent him off.

When I left the waiting room and headed backstage, I saw that all the other “shrine maidens” had already finished getting ready.

“You look wonderful, Princess.”

“You look lovely too, Delawear.”

My personal maid—Delawear—was also dressed in shrine maiden attire.

As a female knight of high rank and, in a broad sense, a member of the ruling family, she was qualified to participate in the ceremony.

The other “maidens” were mostly daughters of nearby vassal nobles or knights. The oldest was fifteen, the youngest ten.

There were a few who were actual temple maidens, but they were in the minority.

“…Even if you make a few mistakes, our ancestors will surely forgive you. Relax your shoulders, and let’s take it easy.”

At my words, the stiff expressions on the girls' faces softened.

Though, of course, a few were still frozen with nerves.

Probably thinking something like, If I mess up, I’ll disgrace the Princess…

To ease the tension, I chatted with them and went over the ceremony’s movements once more.

“It’s time.”

“Then, let’s begin.”

Prompted by the priest’s words, I stepped onto the stage.

At the center of the stage was a large barrel, big enough to fit more than ten people.

Inside it was a heap of grapes, piled generously.

“We will now begin the Grape-Stomping Ceremony.”

With that declaration, I stepped into the barrel.

That was the cue for the other girls to follow suit, placing their feet into the grapes one by one.

Then, all of us folded our arms behind our backs, danced, and sang.

In rhythm with drums and flutes, we released magical energy.

This is the Budoudarl Principality’s traditional harvest ritual, the “Grape-Stomping Ceremony.”

It’s a heartwarming ritual, where girls in their early teens stomp grapes barefoot.

…Honestly, it’s got school play energy written all over it.

If someone were to ask, “Is it really okay for a religious ritual to be this casual?”—the answer is: it’s totally fine.

That’s because in this world, the object of faith is “magic (power)” itself.

For example, the ten-year-old girl next to me, stomping grapes with all her might, may look dainty and adorable, but she has the power to crush an adult commoner man just like she’s crushing those grapes.

That’s how vast the difference is between a knight who possesses magic and a commoner who doesn’t.

And I, as a noble, possess enough magical power to crush girls like her as easily as she crushes grapes.

Even commoners with weak magic-sensing abilities can feel it when power is released—it’s something they can perceive instinctively.

Knights, even more so, would clearly recognize just how overwhelming my power is.

In other words, this ritual isn’t just about celebrating the harvest. It’s also a show of force: “Any invader or rebel who threatens our harvest will be crushed under our might, just like these grapes.”

And everyone folding their hands behind their backs is meant to symbolize solidarity between the ruling family and their vassals and knights.

Thinking about it that way, it’s strange how the grape juice starts to look exactly like human blood.

Even with all that violent symbolism baked in, the knights and commoners cheer with smiles on their faces.

Well… I suppose having strong protectors is better than the alternative.

This world really does have such a bloody worldview…

The grape-stomping ends after about an hour.

The rest will be properly stomped by burly old men, and processed into wine.

Once the ritual is over, it’s just a festival.

Wine made during previous ceremonies is served, stalls line the city’s main street, and traveling performers put on their shows.

Commoners, of course, and even knights’ children sneak off to enjoy the festivities.

As for me—I have to spend the time talking politics with the High Priest, vassals, and knights. No time to enjoy the festival myself.

For the record, the main topic of conversation was: “Who will Princess Roselia marry?”

When I finally dragged myself back to the castle, exhausted after having my feet slobbered on by a bunch of old men, one of the scribes informed me, “You’ve received a letter from Master Thor.”

I opened it while taking a quick rest.

It wasn’t long after I returned home that I’d sent my own letter, so judging by the timing, he must’ve written his reply right away.

The handwriting was just as awkward as ever—not what you'd call elegant—but maybe a bit more practiced than before…?

To summarize: “I’m glad to hear you made it home safely. I’m happy you liked the fur. As for the silk you gave me, I plan to have it made into an outfit. I’m envious that you have a little sister. Will you be attending the royal hunting tournament soon? I’ll be there. I’m no good at dancing or writing, but I do have some confidence in hunting. I once took down a whale-type magic beast. Of course, I’m still practicing my dancing. Next time, I swear I’ll be the one to escort you. By the way, how’s this letter? Do you think I’ve improved? I want to be the kind of man worthy of being your pen pal.”

It feels like his “I like you” energy has gotten stronger.

Reading it is starting to make me embarrassed.

Looking closely, I noticed faint scraping marks on the parchment—especially around the parts about dancing and letter-writing.

The current version is already kind of pushing it, so I imagine the original draft was much bolder.

Probably something like “I’ll be the one to stand beside Princess Roselia.”

Now, how should I reply…?

For the parts about dancing and letter-writing, I’ll just lightly acknowledge them and move on.

That leaves Blanche or the hunting tournament as potential topics.

But from the way his letter reads, Thor doesn’t seem all that interested in Blanche.

If I try to force that subject, I’ll probably just put him off.

That leaves the hunting tournament… but to be honest, I haven’t received an official notice from the royal family yet.

Normally, by this time of year, we would’ve heard something if it were canceled. So yes, it’s probably happening—but still, it would be careless to reply, “I’ll be there.”

We nobles attend only because we’re requested to. It’s not “Please let me attend,” but “We’ll go if summoned.”

Until that invitation comes, we can’t make a move.

“When do you think the hunting tournament announcement will arrive?”

“If it’s like previous years, probably in a week or two.”

“I see.”

For now, let’s assume the invitation will arrive and draft a reply.

I’m sure the royal family’s invitation will reach us soon enough. I’ll send the reply once it does.

“For now, make a copy. The original goes to Father.”

“Understood.”

I handed the letter to Delawear, then pulled out a wax tablet from my desk.

…What? You're wondering why I’m not using paper?

It's still a bit too expensive… and I don’t want to waste it on a draft I’ll just throw away.

I’m stingy like that.

A week later, the invitation from the royal family arrived for the hunting tournament. Alongside it came a letter from the second prince.

His letter read, “I will bring down a magnificent beast and win your heart. I won’t lose to my brother—or to Master Thor.”

Still acting like he’s already my fiancé, I see.

I’d better give him a curt response. If I get too friendly, he might get the wrong idea.

After replying to the second prince, I sat down to write my response to Thor.

Compared to my draft from earlier, I’d decided to add one key phrase: “The second prince conveyed your message to me.”

He is, after all, the most likely candidate to become my fiancé. The possibility of marrying you is extremely slim—so please don’t get your hopes up.

That was the idea I hoped to convey, subtly wrapped in politeness.

I just hope he understands...

Quite some time passed.

Thor’s reply finally arrived—a week before the hunting tournament.

Honestly, I was relieved.

Since it had taken longer than usual, I was starting to think he might’ve taken offense… maybe even hated me now.

But the relief didn’t last long. The moment I opened the letter and began reading, my heart sank.

“I wrote my letter thinking only of you, and yet you clearly did not do the same. It’s disappointing. Of course, I know I’ve only ever shown you how pathetic I am—so your reaction is understandable. That’s why, in this hunt, I will defeat a beast larger than anyone else’s. I look forward to seeing you again.”

That was the gist of it—written in handwriting a bit better than before.

He's sulking. And kind of pissed.

N-Now I’m… sort of scared to see him in person...