The Guardian of The Dragon

Chapter 41

"Are magic tools different from magic?"

"The principle of using magical power is the same, but magic itself is a skill possessed by mages. A magic tool is merely a device."

His explanation seemed a bit unclear.

Frea glanced at the summoning bell and asked cautiously,

"So... can these magic tools be used by non-mages?"

Her question was too strange for Aran to answer right away.

It was like looking at a fire and asking, 'Is that hot?'

"... It operates using stored magic, so anyone can use it."

"Stored magic?"

Aran flipped the bell over.

Inside, there was an iron plate.

Despite its not meant to be touched, he disregarded that, tore off the plate, and extracted a thin mineral within.

The crystal was shaped like a coin-thin piece containing magic.

He called it an enchantment stone.

"This crystal holds magical power, and the magic tool will function until it's depleted."

"May I touch it?"

Aran placed the gemstone in her palm.

Frea examined the translucent blue hue of the gem closely.

'It's beautiful. A gemstone?'

The door opened, and a procession of women entered, each carrying trays.

Dressed uniformly in the same color, they placed the dishes they had brought on the table and departed, leaving only the middle-aged man who had accompanied them.

Frea recognized him, having seen him a few times before.

She shifted her focus to the dish before her.

'What is this?'

It puzzled her.

In the center of a large, round plate sat a dish she had never encountered.

About the size of a grown man's fist, it resembled a pumpkin but was vivid red, akin to a ripe apple.

'I have no idea,'

Frea concluded.

She stole a glance at Aran, hoping to glean how he approached it.

But he stood from his seat.

Circling the table, he approached her from behind.

Reaching over, Aran picked up the knife positioned to Frea's right.

He tapped the top of the red pumpkin with the knife.

With a snap, the pumpkin split neatly into six even pieces.

'Oh.'

Frea observed with wide-eyed fascination.

From within the cracked pumpkin emerged a baked dish—a thick, steaming lump fresh from the fire.

He lifted a sauce cup and drizzled white sauce over the well-baked, golden-brown mass.

It bubbled and sizzled, releasing a savory aroma.

With a fork in his left hand, he pressed down on the loaf and began cutting it into bite-sized pieces with the knife in his right.

Frea felt her cheeks grow warm, as if embraced from behind.