“You carry a very heavy burden.”

Dia looked up to see the bartender, who had a small tray in his hand. There were two cups on it, and none of them were apple juice.

“What do you mean?” Dia asked.

“As I understand it,” said the bartender, “you currently bear the role of acting as decoy. The safety of the real Princess Dia, who has escaped to parts unknown, is contingent on you remaining alive and well. As long as you’re here, you will continue to draw away pursuers from your liege.”

Dia really wanted to tell the punk — and the others — that she was the real freaking Dia, but at this point, she had given up hope. They would simply claim that she was just perfecting her role, and to be honest, it felt great not bearing so many expectations of her role.

For some reason, the prospect of unveiling her true identity — that is, with adequate proof and preparation — felt scary to her.

“Maybe,” Dia replied, playing with the hilt in her hand.

“That sword’s something from your family, right?” the bartender asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you just going to keep it in its broken state? Or do you have a better plan for it?”

“I…”

“Sword Roar. Destroys the currently wielded sword to unleash a ranged attack. Strength of the attack scales with duration of ownership. For the next five minutes, a spectral, indestructible form of the sword is generated. After that duration passes, the sword vanishes from the world,” the bartender recited. “Here’s a question — is this sword truly destroyed?”

“The blade’s shattered, master,” Dia replied bitterly. “What else can it be?”

“Or so you say.” Schwarz smiled. “The last bit of the skill’s description, however, begs to defer.”

“Huh?”

“Here, take this.” The bartender picked up a glass and passed it to her, prompting Dia to glare at him.

“Alcohol?”

“High-quality, personally-brewed stuff.” He picked up the second glass and took a sip from it, smacking his lips a moment later. “See? Don’t be like that pansy Claud, who drinks apple juice like his life depends on it.”

Dia eyed him, before taking the glass. She sniffed at it experimentally, and then took a small mouthful. Unlike what the others had described, this particular drink was smooth and velvety, in a manner reminiscent of his apple juice.

A sour aftertaste, just strong enough to fit her mood, followed as she swallowed the alcohol in her mouth.

“What’s this brew called?” Dia asked, licking her lips.

“It’s Douleur De Amore,” the bartender replied.

“What language is that?”

“Beats me. I was following an old recipe some punk from Lostfon allegedly dug out from the Celestia Ruins,” Schwarz answered. “It tasted great, but the fellow would only sell the recipe at five hundred gold.”

“That’s not a lot.”

“You have a very warped sense of money, miss.” Schwarz rolled his eyes. “Anyway, your sword…isn’t destroyed. I checked the records of Sword Roar; by all rights, you shouldn’t even have a hilt to look at sadly.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Dia looked up from the glass, her movements jerky. “Explain.”

“Whoa. Chill. There’s no need to direct killing intent at me.”

Dia looked at the terrified Schwarz, and then remembered that she was a mana-user. One that had just blown off the tops of a few buildings, while turning a few Shadows into pulpy flesh. It was…inevitable that anyone — especially vanillas — that knew about her ‘glorious’ deed would be scared.

“Sorry.”

“Mm. Do smile more, though. That expressionless face of yours is making me really antsy,” Schwarz replied. “Anyway, hand me that hilt for a moment. I think your sword is a tad…special.”

Dia looked at the hilt. There was nothing to lose, either way, so she passed it over to him. “Damage it, and…never mind. There’s no way you can damage it any furt—”

Her heart stopped a moment later.

Under the bartender’s ministrations, the hilt had split open. Dia’s breathing stopped, and before she knew it, her right hand was blazing with blue light. A searing rage had filled her stomach, and she desired nothing less than to punch—

“Wait, wait!” The bartender took five steps back. “Moons’ love, listen to my explanation first! Your parents didn’t give you a sword, they gave you a hilt!”

“Are you trying to insult my mother’s gift?” Dia asked, her voice cold.

“No, no!” Schwarz took a deep breath and then walked towards her. “Take a close look at the hilt, and you’ll see what I mean!”

Dia reined in her anger and took the hilt back, which had been split open. “This…”

“It seems that your parents had designed this hilt with Sword Roar in mind,” the bartender replied. “Sacrificial skills aren’t popular, since it mandates the destruction of a weapon that people have trained with over long periods of time. And well, weapons tend to be a very personal thing.”

Dia nodded.

“Your parents, however, had planned for this. Take a look.” He pointed at the hilt interior. “See this bit here? For normal swords, it’s meant to hold the blade’s tang. However, your hilt isn’t meant to hold a blade’s tang; it’s meant to encapsulate an entire sword hilt.”

“Are you saying…”

“With the right model, your sword will be back to normal,” said the bartender. “Of course, it’ll count as a new sword, but this was meant to prevent a drop in your fighting capability after using Sword Roar.”

Her hands trembled slightly at those words. “Y-you aren’t lying, are you?”

“Tch. Do I need to lie to you?” Schwarz got up. “The specifications of the inner sword — I’m calling it that now — seems to be a standard imperial blade. Grab one of them, fit it in your hilt, and you’ll be as good as new.”

Turning on his heel, he began to walk away, his tray one glass fewer.

“Hey,” Dia called out.

“It’s okay, this is my job as a bartender.”

Dia, who was about to thank him, felt somewhat stifled. Taking a deep breath, she skipped the first sentence and said, “I still need to thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“For me?” Schwarz turned back, surprised. “Few ever offer to do anything for me. Do you mean it?”

“So long as it’s within my means.”

The bartender blinked. “Well, once all this about Princess Dia being framed blows over, can you recommend me as her personal bartender?”

“Personal bartender?” Dia repeated.

“Yes. Or alcoholic-drink-mixer. She pays her staff generously and has a thick welfare package, right?” He grinned. “I want in on that.”

It was a rather odd request, but this was indeed something she could grant. “Well, if her name’s cleared, I’ll make sure you’ll be …her bartender or something similar.”

“You said it.”

“I never go back on my word,” Dia replied, her heart considerably lighter. “Thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s my job.” Schwarz nodded at her. “Gotta listen to everyone grousing, you know. Or else I might as well be a café owner. Alright, now that you’re all cheered up and happy once more, I hope you’ve learnt your lesson. Don’t go out unprepared, make sure to have your disguise on at all times and if possible, stay at home until everything’s blown over.”

“About that…”

“What? More bad news?”

“The Shadows of Grandis were probably gathering manpower earlier,” said Dia, her face scrunched over as she tried to recall the events back then. “They were probably going to siege Moon Mansion within the next week or so.”

“If you didn’t show up, eh?” The bartender frowned. “Just so you know, I’m not going to condone you walking around unprotected like that, but if you really think that they’re gathering manpower, then we’ll treat it that way. I’ll take care of the information front for now, and we’ll beef up our defences. That battle earlier was…earth-shaking. This place wouldn’t have blocked that shot.”

Dia nodded. “Thank you.”

“For this issue, there’s really no need to thank me. We had an agreement,” Schwarz replied. “I’ll go find Countess Farah to discuss some things. You…you just sit there and think about anything else that might help. Draw some circles or anything, but just stay here, hear me?”

It had been some time since anyone had treated her like a child, but Dia could only nod.

“Great. I’ll send you a bunch of swords — they should be here in an hour or so — and then you can have your weapon back.” The bartender scratched his head. “Yeah, that’s it. Alright, I’m going off.”

He paused. “No need for thanks.”

Forcibly keeping her mouth shut, Dia picked up her glass and downed the contents inside.

Schwarz was evidently someone who took pleasure in stifling others to death.