Winter Veil Festival

When Lister arrived at the familiar classroom, he was astonished to discover that no one had come to class.

Everyone had left. No ravens carrying letters flew between the empty school buildings, nor was there laughter or cheerful chatter. The apprentice tower had become a blank space, a stark contrast to the bustling world around it.

The hourly bell echoed through the air. A moment later, a familiar figure walked in. It was none other than Professor Modera.

"Professor, where is everyone..." Lister found an unbelievable answer on Modera's face. The Archmage shrugged and looked at him strangely. "Why haven't you gone home yet?"

Lister's scalp tingled. Apparently, yes—the final exams were already over. What classes were there left to attend? He nodded. "Thank you for the reminder."

Modera seemed to see his embarrassment. As Lister hurriedly packed his things, she watched in silence as he slowly walked out. His steps were still quick, but disorderly, as though something had thrown him off.

That thing was called emotion. Yet surely he would soon cast off the weak side of mortals altogether and become a true mage in every sense of the word. The only question was: was this truly the path humanity ought to take?

"I remembered," Lister suddenly turned around. "Tomorrow is the Winter Veil Festival, isn't it?"

"Uh, it is. But you shouldn't waste your time on such things." Modera folded her arms. "Lord Antonidas has placed great expectations on you. You should..."

"I should have known. The prices of meat, eggs, milk, cider, and sugar in the newspapers have all soared. It had to be the scent of the holidays." Lister revealed a confident yet regretful smile. "Of course, we still have time to prepare."

"Can you make gingerbread? Uther should be holding a celebration at Valgan Farm, and I'm planning to go now." Lister looked at Modera. She was hesitating, so he imitated Krasus's manner of speaking. "Please, our time is short."

Perhaps possessed by some unseen impulse, Modera nodded and accepted Lister's invitation.

Uther was arranging the venue. Everyone respected this vigorous young priest. He was fair and devout, powerful and merciful, treating all people equally. It was difficult to see any negative emotion on his face; all one could find there was the Holy Light.

"Come on, boys, hurry up! We haven't even prepared the firewood for tonight's bonfire!" The priest effortlessly hoisted a thick log onto his shoulder, directing people as he walked. "Careful! Don't crush yourselves!"

Astaroth was drinking alone in a pile of hay. Alex had taken more than half his income, and even the prince had no way to undo that. Golden liquor slipped past his delicate thin lips and down his throat. Valgan Village made sweet apple cider, a low-alcohol fruit wine fermented directly from apple juice. It was incomparably sweet; freeze it with a Frostbolt, and it was nearly as good as the finest grape wine!

"If people saw that Master Astaroth drank in such a tasteless posture," Modera could not help saying. He had already drunk a small barrel. "Many young ladies would be heartbroken."

Astaroth jolted upright. He had relaxed so much that he had forgotten to remain vigilant. Once he saw who had come, even the hand holding his cup began to tremble. "Master Modera? What are you doing here?"

"I was invited." Modera held a cup of eggnog. Brandy was normally used in this drink, but Modera disliked spirits and insisted on replacing it with beer. Fresh milk, eggs, and sugar had been added, lemon slices drifting within, while floating cardamom powder provided the final lavish touch. Its rich, sweet fragrance was almost suffocating. "But you—Prince Kael simply let you out like this?"

"Our newspaper is printed here. As the associate editor of the spell section..." Astaroth paused on the word "associate." Modera immediately gave an understanding smile. "I must be responsible for what I oversee."

"And that is why you drank so much iced apple cider?" Modera's question drew a long sigh from Astaroth. He opened the tap and filled his cup, then drained it in one gulp. "Speaking of which, why did you come here?"

He was probably drunk. Modera proudly puffed out her chest. "Lister is my student. He invited me to come. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Oh?!" Astaroth's eyes widened. To see such an expression on an elf was truly delightful. Modera covered her mouth and laughed. He too realized his lapse, adjusted his expression, though his voice remained full of disbelief. "He invited you?"

"It hardly counted as an invitation." Modera took a small sip of eggnog. "He said I couldn't make gingerbread. Perhaps I shouldn't let my own student mock me. If you aren't drunk, you should be able to taste the gingerbread I make tonight."

Astaroth's expression lost control again. He downed two cups of wine in quick succession, then staggered back onto the dry hay. "Perhaps I truly am drunk. May your gingerbread be as delicious as mana biscuits."

The furious female Archmage nearly threw a barrage of Arcane Missiles into the drunkard's face. Even the eggnog in her hand had frozen over. Fortunately, Lister came to Astaroth's rescue. He was making a complete mess of kneading dough. Uther remarked that Lister was treating the dough like spellcasting material—after kneading it a few times, he would draw runes on it with flour. Why couldn't he treat this lump of dough as a gnoll's head? That line made everyone burst into laughter.

Modera kneaded dough for Lister while Uther took him to slaughter pigs—slaughtering pigs in the truest sense. The priest used the money he had saved up to make a grand purchase for everyone, and the ingredients were extraordinarily abundant.

"Smoked bass, grilled salmon, fried steaks, savory stew, spicy lamb chops, fried meatballs, Lornatam fries, pork sausages—Uther would never buy spider-meat sausages; who knew where goblins got their ingredients—murloc fin soup. A lot of the food is already here. The meat and wine only cost 900 gold, but it can let the entire village revel for three days." Seeing Lister's expression turn strange, Uther exerted a little strength and lifted the slaughtered pig onto the table with him. He picked up a butcher's knife and began cutting the meat. "What kind of expression is that?"

"Murloc fin soup?!" Lister thought of the fish soup he had just drunk and felt terrible all over.

Uther gave him a strange look, cut off an entire strip of marbled tenderloin, and handed it to the nearby cook. After washing it clean with ice water, the cook immediately put it on the grill. "Isn't it tasty? You're far too picky. It's the best soup I've ever had."

"Urgh..." Lister dry-heaved a few times, only to discover that he could not vomit at all. Astaroth beside him did vomit for real. He had indeed drunk too much. After the farmers cleaned him up, they carried him to the nearby stable. There was warm, clean straw there, so he would not catch a cold. He would probably wake up by evening, and staying there would ensure he did not miss the banquet.

That afternoon, an uninvited guest arrived. Kel'Thuzad glanced at the unconscious Astaroth sleeping on the stable straw. He had come looking for his apprentice. Why had that damned fellow not come to class, forcing him to waste time looking for him? He was utterly unworthy of being...

"Winter Veil Festival?" He accepted the cider Uther handed him and looked doubtfully at Modera, who was sampling freshly baked gingerbread. The female mage's peculiar expression seemed to prove that the gingerbread was not as wonderful as it looked. That fellow Lister was grilling fish with the children, while Ebony Chill was adding ice to its own cup before cheerfully flying off to chill drinks for the villagers.

The cold-hearted mage took the cider and shrugged. "If I were him, I would use every scrap of time to practice runes on flour. He cannot even make the glyph for Arcane Explosion."

"Ha ha ha!" Uther's booming laughter left the mage at a loss. Poor Kel'Thuzad, had he just told a joke? As the mage recalled whether he had misspoken, Uther's heavy palm landed on his shoulder. His entire body shuddered. The priest carried an uncivilized rank smell, but he simply could not break free from those iron arms. He was dragged all the way to the bonfire, surrounded by joyful people. "Don't be so serious. Have a drink. Just don't get drunk like Astaroth. Cheer up, my friend."

Kel'Thuzad could feel everyone's gazes converge on him. It seemed he could no longer secretly pour the drink away. He mechanically drained the cider in one gulp. An unnatural flush then rose on his face, and he collapsed, startling Belo'vir, who had just teleported in.

"Oh? Send him to the stable, then." Belo'vir sat beside Lister. He had brought Lister a gift: a multifaceted ruby covered in runes. Before Modera's shocked gaze, he casually handed this priceless treasure to Lister, then turned and elegantly accepted a cup of apple cider chilled by Ebony Chill. "What an honor—cider made by an artifact. I give this drink full marks."

Astaroth woke up. Upon seeing Kel'Thuzad sleeping beside him, he let out a beastlike roar. Before the astonished eyes of Lister and Modera, the elf set himself free. He rushed into the crowd and began challenging people to drink, throwing an arm around the neck of everyone he met and sharing a cup with them. Belo'vir's expression could not be called surprise—only terror. He had lived for three thousand years and had never encountered anything like this. That drunkard had recognized him and was now dragging him off to drink with him!

Uther had to admit that Astaroth was the best drinker he had ever seen. Not just anyone could drink three barrels of apple cider in a single day.