Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World: Volume 7 [Parts 1 to 2] by Schuld

Author:Schuld
Language: eng
Format: epub

[Tips] The average age of marriage in the Trialist Empire is said to be fifteen to seventeen, but this is generally only true for firstborn sons and daughters who will not inherit their family business or title. Depending on occupation and stature, this figure can shift slightly.

As we basked in the warm afterglow of our precious oath, a biting gale whizzed by, making Margit sneeze.

“Dear me,” she said. “A single bonfire really isn’t enough, is it?”

“O-Oh! Sorry, Margit, let me add some more wood! Er, wait, would you rather I block off the cold with magic?!”

Shoot, I totally lost track of the cold! Margit had told me long before that arachne suffered aching joints and overall lethargy in the winter elements, even when properly geared for the weather. I should’ve set up a climate-controlled barrier instead of just starting a fire. Ugh, I’m such a dolt.

But just as I began weaving the spell together, she daintily dabbed at her nose with a napkin and hopped down, taking my hand in hers.

“No, this is the perfect occasion to change scenery. Won’t you come with me somewhere warmer?”

“Somewhere warmer?”

“But of course. After all, these sorts of talks are best paired with a greeting to one’s parents, aren’t they?”

Huh? Before I could so much as cock my head, she dragged me off to the edge of the canton with astonishing strength.

“W-Wait, but this is—”

“Come, come, in you go. It’s much too cold outside. Snowy days are unbearable no matter how much cotton I stuff.”

I’d been led to a small, sturdily built house. Most homes in Konigstuhl were simple stone structures, but this was one of the few that boasted a mortar-coated exterior—a flame retardant that signified it was primarily fashioned out of wood instead. Reinforced wooden walls gave space to stuff insulation in between the two layers; this sort of architecture was popular in the Empire among the races weakest to the cold.

Yes, we were at Margit’s house.

“Stop, wait, hold on—I haven’t planned out what I’m going to say yet!”

“Isn’t it rather late to be worrying about that? Just speak plainly and explain the reality of the situation.” Margit opened the door and announced, “I’m home!”

While I was shaking in my boots trying to think of how best to break the rather significant news, she pushed on without a care in the world. I guess it was ever easy to be laid back in one’s own home.

“My, my. Welcome home.”

Margit’s mother, Corale, greeted us as we entered a room hot with hearth fire. She looked young enough to be Margit’s sister, and the way her hair was tied just below her neck gave off a gentle impression...or at least, it would have, had she not been wearing traditional arachne garb that exposed vast swaths of skin and accessories.

She had at least twice as many ear piercings as her daughter, not to mention the dangling piece on her navel or the litany of intricate tattoos snaking across her bare shoulder and stomach. In particular, the one curling up to cradle her navel piercing looked like a symbol of lust.

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