Sworded Affair

There was something soothing about a bit of manual labour, chopping up vegetables instead of woefully underprepared opponents. The final round had been somewhat challenging, but Emma couldn't help a bit of disappointment at the earlier stages of the battle royale.

[Eh, that's peacetime training for you. With global mana at a low ebb, and few resources in the wild worth competing for, most apprentices spend their youth in an academic setting, and only really start to stretch their wings after becoming Practitioners. I expect that to change drastically going forward; there's a lot less entertainment to consume their time, for a start.]

"Is that all it takes?" Emma snorted. "Take away TikTok and Netflix, and watch as people regress to barbarity?"

[Bread and circuses is an enduring expression for good reason.]

In an amusing twist of fate that Edith definitely didn't line up in advance, several notifications arrived in quick succession, accompanied by a bass trombone, just as Emma finished off the last of carrots@@novelbin@@

[You have three invitations for Night 2 of the festivities!]

"Damn it," Emma sighed, pulling her knife back out of the cutting board.

Her control was far too honed to accidentally injure herself, the surprise notwithstanding, but the poor kitchen supplies didn't share that same protection; nor were they rated for the strength of a distracted Half-Demon.

"This never happened when I was fighting, in far more chaotic situations at that."

[Epitaph is an extension of your own soul, forged into a weapon. That allows for a level of granular control that a knife off the shelf could never match.]

"At least it's not broken," Emma grumbled, giving the knife a once over just to be sure.

A quick rinse, and back into the kitchen drawer it went, drying itself off in seconds as the household charms did their work. Regrettably, those same charms didn't extend to repairs, forcing her to resort to a mundane solution: flipping the board over and hoping that nobody noticed. It hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things, but who wanted to be embarrassed when it could be avoided?

With that out of the way, Emma finally freed herself to look at the notification that caused this brief moment of panic.

[Masquerade: Paper faces on parade. Dance the night away in anonymity, shrouded by our best anti-recognition magic, freed from the restraints of class and decorum. Just watch out for the knives in the dark!]

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"Um."

Emma read the last line a second time, and sure enough, it remained as it was.

"Is there some unwritten rule that says every event has to include a dangerous gimmick?"

[Not that I'm aware of. It just tends to happen, because the ones in charge of organising events are old and eccentric Magi with too much time on their hands. Masquerade is a festival classic, and one of the tamer ones to be honest; knife wounds are far easier to deal with than last night's enchanted glasswork, for example.]

That wasn't particularly reassuring, though Emma held off on deleting the invitation, at least until she read the others.

[Puff Puff: An all you can eat buffet, featuring the most creative fugu chefs from Japan. Come on in and eat until you drop!]

"Alright, what's the hidden danger here?"

[Oh, there's nothing hidden for once, the danger here is out in the open. Fugu is one of the most poisonous dishes in human cuisine, to the point that it's illegal for a chef to serve it to guests without undergoing a rigorous, years-long apprenticeship followed by a gruelling final exam. Creativity is not a good thing when preparing fugu. That said, I'm sure it will be delicious.]

"Tempting," Emma admitted after a bit of thought. "Though I'm not sure it's worth having to buy another homunculus, after the time I've spent levelling this one. Maybe if I had more on hand to deal with poison, but as it stands? No."

That particular invitation went in the bin, leaving only one still unread.

[I Am My Scars: Take turns carving each other up with ceremonial fencing swords. No blocking or dodging allowed, last man standing wins. Healthcare not included.]

"This is getting a bit ridiculous. Do I want to know how many people die at this festival every year?"

[Fewer than you'd expect. Generally, anyone who actually enters these events will have either the necessary skill to survive, or the necessary backing to have lifesaving or even resurrection items on hand. Unblooded though they may be, most Practitioners have at least some sense of risk assessment or self preservation drilled into them. As for those who don't make the cut, Darwin says hello.]

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Emma sighed. "So, out of the three choices, poisonous puffer fish is a definite no, unless you know an alchemist nearby who can do a rush order for antidotes. As for the rest, what do you think? Test our defences with some fencing, since it only says no blocking or dodging and nothing about magic; go for a dance; or stay home for the night?" Continue your journey on My Virtual Library Empire

[Mhm. If you ask me, the Masquerade has limited value for you. It's mostly beneficial for those in lower positions to mingle without the risk of offending someone higher up. You are one of those higher ups, so pass on that. Fencing could be really funny or really painful, depending on whether your opponent can actually deal with your skillset. I'd say go for it, barring any surprises between now and tonight.]

"Sounds like a plan," Emma agreed, deleting Masquerade from her inbox while leaving the third option intact, but not accepting it just yet.

Looking over to the hob, she found Noah staring off into the distance as well, likely organising his own diary for the night, albeit with less commentary than her own back and forth with Edith. There didn't look to be anything left to cut up, so Emma took that as her cue to vacate the kitchen, heading out to see if she could find the surprise being hinted at.