Honey Wine Ch.14

Chapter 14: Carrot Cake

When Alan woke up the next morning, the sunlight streaming in through the window was already dazzlingly bright.

Thanks to the fairies’ blessing, last night’s drinking had not left him with any hangover headache or dizziness. On the contrary, he had a wonderfully pleasant dream and, upon waking, felt brimming with energy—clear-headed and refreshed. The only minor aftereffect was that the sweet-and-tart scent of apple cider still clung to him, and it would probably take a few days to fade completely.

But at this moment, Alan felt absolutely awful.

He would much rather trade all of that for a splitting hangover and a brief bout of amnesia, just so he could wake up the morning after getting drunk and completely forget what he had done the night before.

“Oh my god—”

Alan covered his face with his hands and muttered in despair.

The moment he recalled how wildly he had clung to Veles’s tail the previous night, Alan wanted nothing more than to leap onto a carriage, leave Green River Village behind, and never come back.

“What on earth did I do?!”

At least now Alan no longer needed to worry about Veles having any ulterior motives—no matter how strange the man’s temper or how unusual his appearance, the mere fact that he had allowed Alan to go crazy while drunk and touch his tail without chopping Alan’s hand off on the spot was enough to prove that he was a saintly good person.

On this magic-saturated continent, there was certainly no shortage of beings with unusual appearances. Whatever the reason behind their animalistic traits, they were collectively referred to as demi-humans, or “beastkin.”

When Alan had first transmigrated here, he sometimes couldn’t restrain his curiosity. Whenever he encountered a demi-human, he would find himself staring blankly at their ears, horns, or scales.

He was then sternly warned about it.

Completely unlike the novels, comics, and games he had read before transmigrating, on a real magic continent people were highly averse to the existence of demi-humans. In a sense, humanity’s rejection was not entirely without reason, because these special beings whose bodies had undergone mutations usually possessed terrifying traits—bloodlust, volatility, excess, and sly cunning.

The beast blood within them could never truly merge with the part of their bloodline that was human; it would continuously bring them intense pain and corrode their minds, and then…

“Demi-humans all end up dying in madness—the stronger the individual, the more so. Don’t stare at them, Alan. Don’t draw their attention. Remember what I say: every demi-human is a lunatic; the only difference is whether they’re more mad or less.”

Even the captain—normally fair, compassionate, and practically the living embodiment of a knight’s code—had once judged demi-humans so bluntly.

What made things especially bad was that the beast-transformed parts of a demi-human’s body were extremely sensitive to them. Staring at those beastly features carried only two meanings—

an outright provocation,

or an invitation for sex.

The beast blood brought demi-humans more than just mental suffering. In certain respects, their desires were like those of true beasts—intense, greedy, and utterly devoid of shame or morality. Alan had learned this lesson painfully well after nearly being dragged into an underground burrow by a half-rabbit demi-human who had looked gentle, sweet, and harmless.

Alan had thought that, thanks to the harsh lessons he’d learned during his time as an adventurer, he already knew how to deal with demi-humans.

But last night, a single bottle of apple cider had made him completely lose control. He hadn’t just looked—he’d reached out and touched.

Not only touched—he’d touched a lot. Many, many times.

“Thankfully, Mr. Veles is a good person.”

Only after taking deep breaths for a long time did Alan finally crawl out from under the blankets, dizzy and muddle-headed. At this point, even though he was so mortified he was on the verge of fainting, he still forced himself to brace up and face life.

It might be a bit arbitrary to say so, but Alan felt that Veles was not quite the same as the demi-humans he had encountered before.

Veles did indeed have a tail—and a very beautiful reptilian one at that—but Alan hadn’t sensed any of the madness or savagery that demi-humans were supposed to possess.

On the contrary, the impression Veles gave was like that of a dead, frozen icefield: extremely cold, yet also extremely restrained.

Thinking this way finally helped Alan calm down somewhat.

He decided that for the next few days he would temporarily avoid contact with Veles, let time wash away this terrible embarrassment, and then make some small pastries as an apology for his drunken misbehavior.

Alan’s plan was carried out perfectly afterward—at least the part about avoiding Veles.

In fact, to be precise, for the next half month or so, Alan didn’t have a single chance to see Veles at all.

The degree and duration of the forest’s abnormality far exceeded the expectations of the residents near Green River. After the initial wave of animals fleeing, people began to notice that many of the trees in the deep forest seemed to be undergoing ominous changes as well. The once silent and generous Mother of the Forest was like a cursed woman, becoming twisted and strange.

From time to time, people would spot small animals slowly crawling out from the forest’s edge—rabbits, fawns, or little birds—but every single one of them looked grotesque in the extreme.

Rabbits were covered in bulbous tumors; fawns had grown layered, overlapping faces; and as for the birds that should have been nimble and cute, their bodies had swollen to several times their original size, their feathers had all fallen out, and their once-feathered wings had become bat-like appendages pieced together from fine white bones and membranes of flesh.

Even worse, people from several nearby villages reported catching glimpses of the wraithlike, emaciated forms of banshees wandering through the forest.

The banshees’ mournful wails had become the most terrifying nightmare for every child at night.

“This is a very bad omen.” Grandma Mary, the eldest in the village, said anxiously.

She was very old and tended to ramble when speaking, but everyone in the village liked her. With age, she had gained not only wrinkles and white hair, but wisdom.

Banshees themselves were not truly evil spirits—they merely had somewhat unsettling appearances and rarely attacked humans on their own. Yet wherever a banshee appeared, tragedy inevitably followed: banshees feed on death and sorrow. They are naturally able to sense impending misfortune, simply waiting by their “dining table” until it is ready.

There had to be something extremely evil and powerful lurking in the forest.

Even the villagers without any magical sensitivity reached this conclusion.

All the young men of the village braced themselves. They built bonfires on this side of the Green River and set up simple protective wards as a defensive line. They spontaneously formed patrol teams to watch the riverbanks and safeguard the village each day.

As for the forest ranger, Veles, he was so busy that he was almost never seen. People knew only that he constantly moved through the forest, but no one knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, the villagers of Green River were very satisfied with Veles’s work—at least in the vicinity of their village, there was no trace of banshees. Clearly, many of the “things” lurking in the forest had already been dealt with by Veles before they reached Green River.

For this, Village Chief Hans rarely received such praise from the villagers.

Alan, too, became busy with his own affairs.

After the forest was sealed off, people could no longer freely enter to gather herbs, fruits, or hunt as they once had. Many turned their attention to their own gardens. During this period, Alan spent almost all his days working in the villagers’ gardens in Green River Village.

He drove away the goblins from the newly cultivated plots, blessed the plants, and tended them carefully so they would grow more fruits and vegetables to fill the empty spaces on the plates…

He was so busy he barely had time to breathe. That day, when he saw Veles at the village chief’s house, Alan even forgot about the embarrassment caused by his drunken antics.

At the time, he was teaching Mrs. Hans to make carrot cake. Cooking had never been her strong suit, so Alan had deliberately chosen a recipe for carrot cake—a simple dish that only required mixing ingredients and baking.

The carrot cake was easy to make but turned out delicious: soft, dense, and sweet, a dessert perfectly suited to the villagers’ tastes.

“Yes, ma’am, please grate a little orange zest in here, and sprinkle some cinnamon too…”

Alan stood in the kitchen, speaking as he quickly grated the carrots in the wooden bowl, while keeping an eye on Mrs. Hans.

A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead as she carefully mixed the orange zest, cinnamon, and the previously crushed walnuts and almonds with the flour.

“And then? Alan, can I add the eggs now?” she asked.

Alan wiped his hands on his apron and placed the wooden bowl of grated carrots in front of her.

“Next, we just need to mix the eggs, butter, and sugar together, and then combine them with these ingredients. Mrs. Hans, don’t worry—you can do it. You just need a little more practice. Oh, and don’t forget the raisins; I soaked them in rum beforehand…”

It was at that exact moment that the men “bang!” burst through the door, coming home.

A few of the patrol boys returned, carrying another boy who looked terrified and disheveled, with traces of fresh blood still on him.

The boy had a round face that looked exactly like Village Chief Hans’s.

“Oh my goodness, what happened?”

Mrs. Hans jumped up and rushed toward the boy—her son.

Amid the ensuing chaos, Alan found himself awkwardly stirring the carrots, sugar, and egg mixture while being forced to piece together what had happened.

The youngest Hans boy, spurred by a dare, had risked sneaking past the village’s protective line and into the forest, nearly falling prey to some dark, lurking creature. Luckily, at the critical moment, Veles had rescued the boy from whatever had threatened him and returned him safely to the village chief’s home.

After briefly thanking Veles, Mrs. Hans turned her pent-up anger directly on the poor little boy.

The house instantly filled with the child’s cries, the mother’s shouting, the village chief’s pleading, and everyone else’s overlapping attempts to calm the situation.

Veles…

It was Alan, upon hearing the familiar name, who instinctively looked up and, with remarkable accuracy, spotted the silver-eyed man in a corner of the room. Though he was the one who had saved the boy, at that moment, no one’s attention was on him.

He stood quietly in an inconspicuous corner, his presence faint, fully wrapped in a thick, wide cloak that even hid his tail in shadow.

Almost simultaneously as Alan noticed him, Veles’s gaze landed precisely on Alan. Those silver eyes were still as cold… and still as beautiful.

While everyone else bickered and shouted, Veles remained outside the crowd, somehow giving off an air of loneliness. After a while, Alan saw him silently slip away, leaving Mrs. Hans’s house without a sound.

Alan blinked. He didn’t try to stop Veles—he had long sensed that Veles wasn’t particularly fond of crowds. But on this continent, it seemed that the strong often had a touch of reclusiveness; that was perfectly normal.

Considering the incident at the Hans household tonight, poor little Hans hadn’t gotten to taste the carrot cake his mother had made—though the cake had indeed been baked, and by Alan himself.

Just as Alan had promised, the simple carrot cake, once baked, gave off a sweet, rich aroma and tasted wonderfully decadent. After baking, it had been topped with a thick layer of frosting and sprinkled with crushed walnuts.

Mrs. Hans had handed the cake to Alan as a token of gratitude for the lesson. Then, under little Hans’s mournful gaze, Alan quickly left the house, fully aware that once everyone else had gone, the poor boy was about to receive a possibly painful “talk.”

Alan carried the carrot cake toward his own home.

But just as he was nearly there, his steps suddenly paused, and almost on impulse, he turned and started walking along the path leading to the forest ranger’s cabin.

The carrot cake in his arms was still warm, exuding the fragrance of nuts, sugar, and butter—it was at its absolute most delicious.

Alan had the strong feeling that even Veles would probably enjoy this carrot cake.

And so, Alan arrived at Veles’s home.

He swore he hadn’t meant to intrude. When he got there, the ranger’s cabin looked dark and empty. He assumed Veles had gone out on patrol again, so, following the guidance of the vines and completely unguarded, he pushed open the door, intending simply to leave the carrot cake inside.

Creak—

But as the door swung open, Alan looked up and saw Veles.

Without his cloak, his upper body bare, tending to his own wounds.

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