Immortal SL*UT System-Chapter 36: Sunpetal Blooming Festival : Third day

Day Three – Festival Finale

The sun rose lazily on the last day. The inn rooms were a mess, half the knights groaning from ale, Luca still chewing in his sleep, and Julian hammering on a scrap of metal in his dream.

Then the door slammed open.

Lilith stood there, hands on hips, her fiery hair wild, her eyes blazing.

"Get your asses up, boys! We’re earning money from this festival today. Last chance!"

Groans echoed. Kael covered his head with a pillow. "Gods help me, what now..."

Ren rubbed his temple. "Haven’t you robbed enough people already?"

Lilith’s smile widened dangerously.

"No. Not yet. 😑 ...I mean, this time we’re actually earning it."

That woke a few eyes. Luca rolled out of bed, eyes sparkling. "Earning? How? How?"

Lilith puffed her chest proudly. "We’re doing a Water Tank Fall Game. Someone sits on a tank above water, there’s a target. Hit the target, the poor sod falls in. Easy, fun, and profitable."

Julian pinched the bridge of his nose. "That sounds... like something only you would invent."

"Exactly," Lilith grinned.

Kael groaned louder. "Why am I having a bad feeling about this..."

But it was too late.

🛠️ Building the Stall

By mid-morning, the entire squad was conscripted. Julian sketched a blueprint, muttering like a grumpy craftsman. Ren organized supplies, while the Iron Vows hammered, sawed, and lifted wood beams. Even Luca fetched nails (though he dropped half of them).

Lilith? She marched to the festival organizers with her womanly privilege card, smiling sweetly and batting her lashes. The men melted instantly. "Of course, Lady Lilith, set up anywhere you like!"

By the time noon bells rang, the stall stood proudly: a big wooden frame with a water tank at the top, a wobbly seat above it, and a lever connected to a target plate.

The finishing touch? A hand-painted sign by Luca that read:

"Lilith’s Dunk-O-Matic: Hit the Mark, Make a Splash!"

Crowds had already gathered, whispering and pointing. "What is that?" "Some kind of torture device?" "Looks fun!"

Lilith stood proudly in front of it, hands on hips, grinning like a mischievous merchant queen.

🎯 First Test Run

Lilith clapped her hands once, loudly.

"Alright! We need a test subject to show how this works."

The knights instantly looked at Brell, but Lilith’s sly smile shifted... and her finger pointed straight at Kael.

"You. Tower shield man. Get up there."

Kael froze. "...What?"

"You heard me."

Kael’s jaw tightened. "Lady Lilith, I am a knight of honor, not some carnival clown."

Lilith leaned forward, lowering her voice with a teasing smile.

"Then prove that your honor can survive a little splash. Or..." She raised her brow. "Are you scared of water?"

The crowd—already gathering curiously—snickered.

Kael growled, muttered something about "bloody humiliation," and stomped up the ladder. He sat stiffly on the little seat above the tank, arms crossed, glaring down like a soaked emperor awaiting his fate.

💰 The Game Opens

"50 Narr per throw!" Lilith announced, voice loud and sharp, echoing over the square. "Hit the mark, drop the knight! Easy as that!"

The moment the words left her mouth, hands shot up. Who wouldn’t want to knock a scowling armored knight into a tank of water? It was primal, irresistible.

One man tossed his coin, aimed, and threw—

CLANG

Miss. The crowd laughed.

A second person threw, hit the edge of the target plate, but the mechanism didn’t trigger. Kael smirked down smugly, arms folded.

"Seems your toy is defective," he rumbled.

Lilith leaned against the stall, grinning.

"Oh, don’t worry. Someone will have a better arm."

Sure enough, the third throw—by a skinny boy with surprising strength—landed dead center.

CLUNK!

The lever snapped, the seat gave way, and Kael plunged straight into the tank with a SPLAAAASH!

The crowd roared with laughter.

Kael emerged, sputtering, hair plastered to his face, glaring murderously at Lilith.

"...This is undignified."

Lilith cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted,

"Who wants to do it again?!"

A dozen hands flew up at once. The coins clinked in her little chest like music.

Within minutes, the line stretched down the street.

Some throws missed. Some bounced. Some triggered the drop. Each time Kael got dunked, the cheers got louder, and Lilith’s grin got wider.

Julian muttered as he collected coins into a pouch, "This is... disgustingly profitable."

Ren sighed, shaking his head. "She’s weaponized human instinct."

Luca, bouncing with excitement, shouted, "Drop him again! Drop him again!"

Kael? He sat shivering, dripping wet, face permanently set in an expression that said I will get my revenge.

After Kael’s 5th splash, Moreau finally stepped in, sighing.

"That’s enough. If he catches a chill, it’s on us."

Lilith tapped her chin, pretending to consider, then clapped.

"Alright then. New rule—rotation! Every hour, a new victim. Line up, boys!"

The Iron Vows froze. Brell nearly dropped his spear.

"W–Wait, all of us?"

Lilith smirked. "Of course. Equal suffering, equal honor. You’re knights, aren’t you?"

The crowd exploded in cheer. They wanted variety!

Soon, Saria—with his cocky grin—was perched above the tank, teasing challengers, leaning just far enough to tempt them. The crowd loved it even more.

🎲 Betting System

Ren, sensing opportunity, whispered to Lilith,

"Why not let them bet? Not just on if they hit, but how many throws until the knight drops."

Lilith’s eyes sparkled. "Brilliant."

She announced to the crowd:

"Place your bets! Will he fall in 1 throw? 3? 10? Winner takes the pot!"

Suddenly, the stall transformed. People were throwing harder, sharper, competing to win the betting pool. The atmosphere was electrified.

Julian scribbled tallies, Ren handled bets, Lilith shouted commentary like a festival announcer, and the Iron Vows rotated in misery.

😂 Memorable Moments

Brell was the most nervous target. He sat stiffly, gripping the seat, muttering prayers under his breath. Someone finally dunked him after 12 tries—earning the biggest payout yet. The crowd called it the "Virgin Drop." 🐸

Saria leaned too far forward taunting people... and slipped into the tank before anyone even hit the target. The crowd howled, tossing coins anyway.

Moreau sat with knightly dignity, refusing to react, even after three consecutive dunks. The crowd started chanting "Stoneface! Stoneface!"

Kael, dripping wet from round two, muttered, "This is dishonor beyond belief," but by the time someone paid double to dunk him again, the whole street was chanting "DUNK THE SHIELD!"

By afternoon, their stall was the main event of the Sunpetal Festival. Coins poured in. People placed ridiculous bets. Even passing nobles and merchants stopped by to take a throw.

Lilith, sprawled on her chair, counted the coins with a wicked grin.

"See? Told you boys—we’re earning money today."

Ren shook his head. "You’re not just earning. You’re robbing them while they thank you for it."

Julian sighed. "This... might be the most profitable scam I’ve ever seen."

Kael sneezed.

🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸

The Cultural Show

By late afternoon, Lilith shut down the dunk tank. The Iron Vows were dripping, sore, and glaring at her, but the coin pouches told the truth—it had been worth it. They returned to the inn, dried off, and changed into cleaner clothes for the evening’s cultural event.

At dusk, the whole festival crowd gathered by the riverside stage. The front rows were marked off with woven ropes, and when Lilith and her company arrived, ushers rushed to guide them to reserved seats at the very front.

Lilith leaned to Ren with a grin.

"See? Privileges." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Ren shook his head. "You’ll drown in them one day."

The stage darkened, and a great white screen was stretched tight, lit from behind by glowing lantern-stones. The puppeteers’ silhouettes danced, lifting carved wooden figures with astonishing grace.

The narrator’s voice rolled out in a deep, solemn tone:

"Long ago, when our land was but barren soil and hunger gnawed at our hearts, a leader rose among us. His name was Orvann the Bold."

A shadow puppet of a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared, standing at the head of a weary group. His silhouette exuded strength, spear in hand.

"But even Orvann’s strength could not fill empty stomachs. It was then a wanderer came to us. His name was Ceryn."

The second puppet appeared—smaller, timid, moving softly, carrying a staff. Unlike Orvann’s solid figure, Ceryn’s silhouette moved with hesitation, almost shy.

The kid sitting beside Lilith leaned over and whispered excitedly, "That’s Ceryn! He taught them how to plant grains in rows and use water from the river. Without him, everyone would’ve starved."

On screen, Ceryn showed the villagers new techniques, and their crops flourished. Cheers rippled through the audience, as though honoring their ancestors anew.

Orvann’s puppet approached Ceryn’s, clasping his hands. The narrator intoned,

"Thus, the bond between Orvann and Ceryn grew deeper than the roots of the river grass."

Then came the fateful scene: Orvann holding up a long-stemmed puppet flower, the distinct shape of a sunpetal. The crowd went quiet. He knelt before Ceryn, offering it.

"They say it was upon this very riverside he spoke the vow: ’Be my companion, now and forever, under the sunpetal’s bloom.’"

The two shadows clasped together as one. The music swelled, soft flutes and drums, while petals (real ones, tossed by stagehands from behind) drifted across the stage.

Luca’s eyes shone, and he tugged on Julian’s sleeve.

"Big brother, it’s so moving! He gave him a flower, and then they promised to live together forever!"

Julian patted his head. "Yes... that’s exactly what happened." (internally praying Luca doesn’t ask deeper questions.)

Lilith sat with her chin on her hand, deadpan.

(Wait. Wait wait wait. This is basically yaoi... but everyone’s eating it up like it’s sacred history. Am I the only one noticing this?)

The local kid noticed her blank look and leaned closer.

"It’s the most romantic story ever. That’s why we celebrate the Sunpetal Festival! It’s about love and loyalty."

Lilith forced a smile. "Right... loyalty."

(Romance standards are... different here. Guess I better adapt.)

Meanwhile, Ren was quietly laughing into his sleeve at her discomfort. Moreau watched the performance with stoic attention, while Brell blushed crimson when the silhouettes clasped hands.

The show ended with thunderous applause, the puppeteers bowing behind the screen.

🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸

On the far, forgotten side of the river, where weeds grew tall and abandoned shacks leaned against the wind, a faint hum filled the air. Then with a shattering ripple, a swirling portal tore open above the cracked stones of the old bridge.

Four small figures tumbled out, cloaked and trembling. The portal collapsed behind them, leaving nothing but silence.

They were children—no, elves.

The first, with short black hair and piercing deep-blue eyes, kept a cold mask on his face despite his exhaustion.

The second, a timid child with soft green hair and matching eyes, clutched her cloak tightly, trembling at every sound.

The third, a red-haired, red-eyed girl, glared at the world with tsundere fire, even while panting and staggering from fatigue.

And the fourth, the one who seemed to naturally lead them, carried himself with a calm grace—silver-white hair, sky-blue eyes, and a steady voice that anchored the others.

Their bodies were thin, their steps weak, and their cloaks so worn that patches of skin peeked through. Yet when the silver-haired one raised his head and spoke, his words were steady:

"Don’t let your guard down. We don’t know where we are... and this place feels wrong."

Ahead of them glimmered faint lights from across the river—the cheerful glow of the Sunpetal Festival. To their left, thick trees and tall weeds swayed. To their right, the river ran dark under the moon.

They staggered toward the cover of trees, hoping to scout before moving. But before they could get far, rough laughter echoed across the broken bridge.

A band of drunken men stumbled back from the festival side, bottles in hand. Their faces were flushed, their steps uneven. At first, they barely noticed the four small cloaked figures. But then one squinted.

"Oi, oi... aren’t those elf brats?"

The others perked up.

"Elves? Hah! That’d fetch a decent price if true."

The leader, a scarred man with yellow teeth, waved his hand dismissively.

"Forget it. Festival night. No need to get dirty. Let ’em go. Next time, maybe."

Relief washed over the four children. They lowered their shoulders and quietly tried to slip away.

But one drunkard froze, staring too hard. He slurred,

"Wait... their ears. I swear I saw the tips—downward, just a little. Those are girls. Elf girls."

The group erupted in laughter.

"Elf girls? In this dump? You’re drunk."

"You couldn’t dream of one even if you passed out for a year!"

But the leader stopped laughing. He stared again, and his expression sharpened. Indeed—at the edge of their cloaks, those delicate ears dipped slightly downward at the tips. A sign whispered in rumors: the mark of female elves.

His grin widened.

"Plan change. If that’s true... we’re going to be filthy rich."

The children tried to run. The black-haired boy shouted for the others to scatter, but their legs were too weak, too worn from starvation and exhaustion. The red-haired girl lashed out, clawing at a man’s arm, but she was grabbed and pinned. The green-haired girl screamed, but her voice was muffled as another hand clamped over her mouth.

The silver-haired one struggled the hardest, landing a desperate knee to one of their stomachs, but even he was caught from behind.

Laughing and jeering, the delinquents dragged the four elves toward a broken hut nearby, its roof sagging and its walls reeking of mildew. Inside, the drunken men whispered excitedly, already planning how much the "rare elf girls" would fetch on the black market—more than a noble’s ransom.

One of the children’s cloaks was torn open in the struggle, revealing pale, delicate skin. The men’s laughter grew darker.

The four young elves exchanged fearful glances, realizing they had escaped one hell only to fall straight into another.

Continued...

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Non-canon filler: The previous owner of the body has now become a yokai and came to haunt me and she has something to say to you all.

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