"The weather in the Grayrain Kingdom was still far too gloomy. It kept raining no matter the season, and only after leaving those storm clouds did the sky become a little clearer. This climate was not suitable for fermenting mash at all, forcing me to use a few 'minor spells' to help the alcohol form... I wonder whether Bill, that 'seasoned drunkard,' will notice the unnatural taste."
As he flew swiftly through the clouds, the stern mage with fiery red hair and beard muttered to himself about matters entirely unrelated to magic.
Ankazan was carrying fine wine to visit an old friend. Although the middle-aged mage flying above the clouds showed no change in expression, the "Burning Scorcher" was actually in a fairly good mood. Because of Mestur's orders, the unfortunate spellcaster had to spend most of his time idling inside a magic tower without even a trace of magical resources, only getting a chance every ten or twenty thousand years to leave that gloomy sky and relax.
Thus, every detail of this brief "vacation" was worth savoring for Ankazan.
During the short journey, he carefully felt the sunlight shining on his robe, the breeze brushing across the magical shield around him, and observed what new changes had appeared in the scenery along the way over these tens of thousands of years... Casting aside the rigid, meticulous façade of an ancient spellcaster, Ankazan was actually someone who loved life very much. Probably no one knew that he had transformed the laboratory in his magic tower into a brewery. Although his long-established rigid temperament prevented the middle-aged mage from changing his stern expression even while relaxing and entertaining himself, Ankazan's serious face was, in truth, more often a disguise for his boredom and helplessness.
His helplessness came from having no way